


Shadows of the North: An Elder Scrolls Story

by ALadyofRohan



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Skyrim - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:37:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALadyofRohan/pseuds/ALadyofRohan
Summary: The epic saga of unlikely friends aiding each other in the times of heartbreak, deception, and dragons. (Unfinished work-tags say complete but this is false and the site keeps glitching when I try to change it)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadMod95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMod95/gifts).



> TW: Graphic violence

_“Whose woods these are I think I know._

_His house is in the village though;_

_He will not see me stopping here_

_To watch his woods fill up with snow._

 

_My little horse must think it queer_

_To stop without a farmhouse near_

_Between the woods and frozen lake_

_The darkest evening of the year._

 

_He gives his harness bells a shake_

_To ask if there is some mistake._

_The only other sound’s the sweep_

_Of easy wind and downy flake._

 

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep.”_

 

**‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’**

-Robert Frost

 

7th First Seed 4E 174

 

“Breathe.”

Magnus Longstride adjusted the aim of his daughters hunting bow.

With one large finger he pointed at the dark brown stag just a few yards before them. He watched his daughter furrow her brow and set her lips in a firm line, but she didn’t say anything.

She was focused on her shot. Concentration burrowed deep in her brow and the beginnings of perspiration.

Magnus couldn’t help but notice the same ever changing swirl of color in her eyes that he knew she inherited from him.

Magnus couldn’t help but smile, looking back again at the grazing deer.

“Release.” He whispered.

The arrow went flying, unfortunately stopping short and plunging into the dirt. The stag let out a high pitched cry and raced off back the thicket of trees.

Magnus patted his daughters slumped shoulder and gave a reassuring smile.

“I think he moved.” He said, scratching his short black beard.

His daughter glared at him, “That’s what you always say.”

“And one day, Hildeira, it will be true.” Magnus laughed, then changed his tune when he saw the disappointment in his daughters eyes, “But...Perhaps my little shield maiden is better suited for a sword?”

Hildeira lit up, her pale lips curling quickly into a large grin.

“You mean it, papa?”

Magnus rustled her dark chocolate hair, random braids flying about.

“Of course...” He said, ushering her back onto the wooded path that led to home, “And I’m sure your mother wouldn’t disagree. She started her training at your age.”

Hildeira felt her heart leap out of her chest, the idea of being a prestigious warrior like her mother was too tempting a thought.

The two of them began to descend down a tree-littered hill, remnants of snow beginning to melt away in the midday sun. Green and blue dragonflies danced through the pines, a soft wind carrying the smell of warmer days ahead.

Hildeira took her fathers strong hand, both of them soaking in the splendors of a Skyrim spring.

As they neared the bottom of the hill, they could see concentrated smoke rising up in the sky.

“I wonder what your mother’s prepared for supper.” Magnus gave his daughter a gentle push.

Hildeira curled her nose, “I hope it isn’t like her rabbit soup.”

“Like jerky sitting in water.” Magnus laughed.

They both shuddered.

Past the treeline sat a large house overlooking the plains between Dawnstar and Whiterun. Two large horses nickered their greetings as Magnus walked past the stables, Hildeira gave them a wary look as she sped up to meet her fathers step. Her father made his way inside, but Hildeira stopped before she reached the front steps.

The shadow of Heljarchen Hall loomed over Hildeira, a house passed down through her fathers generations. The house intimidated her, even at her parents reassurance that there were no ghosts or ghouls lurking about the old stones.

Her ears pricked up when she heard the sound of a metal hitting stone.

She peeked around the eastern corner of the house, seeing her fathers housecarl sharpening his sword. Sparks flew up at him, but the young Nord seemed to care little.

“Gregor!” Hildeira called, running over to him.

Gregor looked up and gave a slight grin. The housecarl was younger than the Lord of the house, but he had shown his loyalty time and again. When the Jarl had asked Magnus to instate a housecarl, Magnus Longstride had but only one choice.

Gregor took notice of her little hobbled bow and gestured to it.

“Catch anything today, my Lady?” He asked.

Hildeira shook her head, “Father says I might be better with a sword, like mother.”

Gregor turned to face her, setting his sharpened sword on his lap.

“And a fine thing for a young Nord girl,” Gregor twitched his dark red moustache, “The Lady of the house is unsurpassed, but I’d wager with time you two would be evenly matched,” Gregor smiled, “The real obstacle is seeing it not as a blade, but as an extension of your own arm. Allowing it to become part of yourself.” He handed her a dulled blade that sat by his leg.

Hildeiras eyes widened with the thought of herself holding a sword after the triumph of battle. She grinned and snatched the blade quickly, but then held it in her hands as if it were glass. She looked at Gregor with a sly grin.

“Don’t give away too many secrets, Gregor, I might just kick your ass someday.”

Gregor laughed, “Best not let your Great Uncle hear you say those words.”

Hildeira stuck out her tongue as if she had eaten something rotten. Before she could make a smart retort about the Argonian taking up residence in the family cellar, the look on Gregors freckled face made her turn to look towards the plains.

A group of armored men on horses were galloping along the road. Gregor stood to his full height and placed a hand on Hildeiras shoulder.

“I think it best you go into the house, my Lady.” He said.

Hildeira didn’t question him, running back around to the front and bursting through the large wooden door.

Hildeira raced through the foyer, stopping at the archway that led into the dining room. Her mother looked up from her seat by the fire, her raven-black hair seemingly turning blue in the firelight. Lagerthas bright golden eyes softened at the sight of her eldest.

“I was just about to call you in for your meal.” Lagertha said, struggling to stand as she countered the weight of her growing belly.

Hildeira ran to her mother, “There’s men coming up the road.”

Lagerthas gentle expression suddenly became hard, her features darkening even in the light of the roaring fire.

“How many?”

“I don’t know, but Gregor told me to run inside.” Hildeira explained.

Magnus descended the stairs from the second floor, a poignant frown on his usually jovial face. He looked at his wife.

“Best get the good mead, Lags.”

Lagerthas face twisted into a sneer, “Skald again?”

Magnus only nodded, taking his pipe from the mantle and filling it generously with tobacco. He looked at Hildeira.

“Eira, go find your sister and stay in your room.”

Hildeira was about to protest, but the hard look in her fathers shimmering grey-green eyes bade her to do as he said.

She left quickly, running up the stairs to a large room situated west of the house. Conveniently in view of the lower level.

Hildeira was unsurprised when she found her little sister already in their room and playing with her new dolls. Her blonde hair was splayed wildly around her as she laid on her back, holding up her favorite cloth doll in the air.

“Eira, come play princesses with me.” She beckoned her older sister, “I want to be the one that lives in our forrest…”

“Not now, Alfanna.” Eira said, running to the window that overlooked the front of the house.

She saw Gregor speaking with a man dressed in rich robes, a black bear pelt wrapped around his broad shoulders. His blond beard braided into a sharp point. Another man in equal finery stood behind him, a scowl never leaving his weather-beaten face.

Eira remembered him coming to their home before. He was the Jarl of Dawnstar. Skald had come calling on Magnus Longstride many times before, trusting his judgement even past the other Thanes in his court.

Beside the Jarl was a tall and taciturn woman in deep purple robes, her greying hair pulled into strategic braids.

Behind the three nobles was a small battalion of Nord men and women, all of them bearing the symbol of the Empire.

The small patter of Alfannas footsteps made Hildeira turn to her sister.

“Who are they?” Alfanna asked, holding her arms up so Hildeira could pick her up.

“I think they’re here for papa.” Hildeira said quietly, trying to adjust her sister comfortably in her arms, “Mama didn’t seem too happy when she heard they were here.”

Alfanna cuddled close into Hildeiras dark hair, “Is papa going away?”

Hildeira shrugged, “I don’t know,” She set her sister down, “I’m gonna try and find out.”

She crept back towards the door to their bedroom, carefully stepping around Alfannas plethora of toys.

Her spine prickled when the door creaked as she tried to open it, but the adults downstairs were too caught up in the din of heated conversation to notice.

Eira slumped to her stomach, peeking just barely past the rails of the bannister overlooking the dining room. She felt her sister crawl in next to her, Alfannas soft golden eyes looking over all the people that were in their home.

The harsh-looking woman sat with an unreadable expression as Magnus poured her a cup of dry mead. Eira noticed her mother sitting across from the blond man, scowling while he spoke.

“Jonna is gathering troops in Falkreath as we speak,” The blond man said, pulling his beard into a further point, “The ravens carried ill news from the Imperial City.”

Eira didn’t think it was possible for Skald to grow more sour, but he did.

“We need all bodies to the border immediately, Magnus. It’s only a matter of days until Titus Meade reaches our border for sanctuary.” said Skald.

“Riften has pledged one of their thanes already at my bequest.” The blond noble said, taking a sip of his drink.

Skald gave a dry scoff, “Erlking has no business being this stingy with his troops. Bastard…”

“He gives what we can.” The blond man said.

Magnus sat down at the head of the table, his hands folding in front of him. He eyed only Lagertha.

“My wife is heavy with child…”

“As are many wives of the soldiers joining the front.” The noble woman spoke up, her voice was heavy and even, “As it is, my son has joined General Jonna at my ill advice.”

“Ulfric is already showing the signs of a true son of Skyrim then.” Skald said appraisingly, “You should be proud, ᚦorunn.”

ᚦorunn sipped her mead methodically, then chose to speak.

“Things already grow unsteady within our own borders, I say we rid ourselves from the Empire and focus our eyes on Markarth. Those terrorists calling themselves the Forsworn are growing bolder day by day. If we let General Jonna follow Titus Meade into Cyrodiil they’ll wage an attack on Markarth.” She said, “Let Erlking send another batalion to cover our border. He has the soldiers to spare.”

“What is Hoags say in this?” Skald asked.

ᚦorunn eyed Skald, “Let’s not pretend we don’t know the true voice behind the power in Windhelm, Skald.”

“We’re not here to discuss politics,” The blond man said, “That is for the Moot and it shall keep there as it always has been.”

Skald grumbled, but didn’t protest. ᚦorunn gave a relenting nod.

Magnus heaved a great sigh, “Jarl Istlod is right...whether we like it or not the Emperor calls for aid from Skyrim, and we are duty bound to do so.”

Lagertha glared at him, but said nothing.

Skald slammed his drink to the table, startling Aflanna. Eira pulled her sister close to her.

“A joy it will be to see the Magnus the Mountain stare down those gods damned gold faced bastards.” Skald gave a short laugh, but quickly stumbled over his words, “No offense to the Lady of the house.”

Magnus clenched his fist, but said nothing. Lagertha peered at Skald.

“Perhaps the mead is a little too strong?” She said with a hard smile.

Istlod sighed, “Morthal and Solitude have already given their best warriors. And I’m aware your sister is at the front with Jonna now, Mangus. I have already come to Whiterun and now Dawnstar to personally plead for the help of Skyrims greatest.” He looked to Lagertha, “Rest assured your name came to mind, my Lady. But it seems we may be six or seven months too late.” He said with an encouraging smile, “And I would not ask to take your husband from you if I did not think it was for the greater good.”

“Many men can say it is for the greater good, but can they really be so sure?” Lagertha asked.

Skald pursed his lips, but a glare from Magnus kept him from speaking his mind.

ᚦorunn finished her drink quietly, then stood in one graceful motion, “It seems we must make our way to our next Thane then.”

Magnus stood as she did. Jarl Istlod looked to him.

“And Magnus, it would be best to leave as soon as you can, I’m sure your presence with give Jonna a great comfort.”

“I’m sure it will.” Lagertha said with a biting tone, ushering her guests away all too quickly.

Hildeira heard the front door close. Her mother quickly shuffling back into the dining room to say her piece.

“Those righteous bastards,” She started, “Why couldn’t the Emperor just have signed that damn Concordat?”

Magnus sighed, “Men are proud, Lags...were a woman on the throne it might be different.” He smiled at his wife, “Here I am talking like Uthgerd.”

Lagertha rolled her eyes, “They’ve already taken your sister when Bravil fell, isn’t one of our family good enough for them?” She sat herself down.

Magnus came over to her and got to his knees, placing his hand on her belly and pushing back stray strands of her long ebon hair to reveal her pointed ears.

“My father, Auri-El help me, must have been spinning in his chair when he heard of the atrocities Naarifin has cast out into the Empire.” Lagertha said, then looked at Magnus with glossed over eyes, “The blood purity of the Altmer...what a crock of shit.”

Magnus snorted, “Aurelian is an exceptional elf who had been away from the Isles a little too long. Some people get a taste for the beauty of Skyrim and never want to leave.” He said.

Lagertha sighed, placing a warm hand on Magnus’ cheek.

“Even then...everyday I’m grateful to have disobeyed him once to marry you.”

Magnus kissed her, then pressed his forehead to hers.

“Hildeira helped.” He jested, earning a push from his wife. Then he added sweetly, “I’ll think of you always.”

“You better.” Lagertha said.

Magnus stood to his full height.

“Alright, girls, you can come down now.” He looked right at Hildeira.

Hearing their father call for them, Alfanna and Hildeira ran down the stairs to leap at their father.

Hildeira had a scowl on her face, “I could have fought them, papa. Then you wouldn’t have to go.”

“Righteous bastards.” Alfanna repeated her mother.

Lagertha put her head in her hands, trying not to smile.

“I’m sure you would have, Eira.” Magnus laughed. He looked over his family with a great fondness, his grey eyes swirling into an empathetic blue, “How I will miss the three most beautiful women in the world.”

He held Alfanna in his arms as he gathered his things. Lagertha and Hildeira helped pack away non perishable foods for the road. Gregor came inside not long after.

“So I am to be at the front then?”

“Not you too…” Lagertha sighed, handing Magnus his Dawnstar shield.

Magnus held the young man by the shoulders, “I begged Skald to let you be.”

“I know.” Gregor said, “I’d rather be here to make sure the Lady and your daughters are seen to.”

Magnus nodded, “I’ll be sending ravens while I’m on the road, Solitude isn’t far enough that Lagerthas parents won’t be here before the baby comes. And...” He sighed, shaking away whatever he truly wanted to say, “Lagertha was kind enough to gather your things. I’ll meet you by the stables in a moment.”

“Just as a warning, Skald is still sitting outside with a few of his men.” Gregor said, taking up his pack, “The man is paranoid beyond delusion.”

“As if I haven’t already proven my worth time and again,” Magnus rubbed his forehead, “Very well then…” He took a deep breath, “I’m going to the cellar for a moment. Maybe the lizard will wake up long enough to say a goodbye”

Gregor nodded, then turned to go back outside.

“Are you actually going to be polite to the Argonian this time. Magnus?” Lagertha asked.

“He’s my uncle, I have to be.” Magnus sighed, descending the ladder into the cellar.

 

* * *

  


Lagertha stood proudly on the crest of the hill that her home sat upon. Alfanna was tucked under her robes, peering out at the horses and soldiers gathered underneath. Hildeira held her mothers hand, enduring the hard squeeze she gave when Skald shouted above his warriors.

Her husband, now dressed in the fineries of war, came to kiss her lips before his departure. His grim face now adorned the black lines of his war paint, running across his face as a stark contrast to his pale skin and bright eyes.

“I love you, Lagertha.” Magnus said.

“And I you.” Lagertha said to him, then added in a harsh whisper, “You either come back bearing your shield, or it bearing you.”

Magnus gave a ready nod, kissing his wife once more, making sure to tell his future child how much he was looking forward to seeing them. He bent down to kiss his other children, Alfanna wary to leave the safety of her mothers clothing. Hildeira kept herself from crying when her father said his goodbyes to her.

“Take care of mother for me, Eira.” Magnus said, pointing to the dull blade haphazardly tied to her side, “The little one may arrive before I do.”

“Yes, papa.” Hildeira said, biting back a sob.

When Magnus turned away to gather his horse, Hildeira couldn’t keep herself together any longer.

She raced to her fathers side, brandishing her new sword and taking his hand with her free one.

“Don’t go, papa.” She said, tears streaming down her face.

Magnus gave a weak smile, wiping away the tears with his thumb. He bent to her level.

“I have to, my little shield maiden.” He said, “I promise to return.”

“With your shield on your back?”

“Of course. And when I do, I will show you how to properly wield a sword,” He unsheathed his family sword, a shining silvery blade with a hilt adorning two wolves. One consumed the sun, and one the moon.

“One day you will wield Fjallsjarna, and that day I will live to see...that I can promise you, my little shield maiden.” He rose to his full height, sheathing his sword, “Protect our family, Hildeira.”

Eira nodded, reluctantly letting her fathers hand go.

 

* * *

 

Lagertha sat by the fire, checking a stitch on a nearly finished swaddle. Her milky-golden eyes peering at the table where her daughters sat studying.

Only a week had passed since Magnus had left them, and Lagertha had finally received a raven from her parents that they would make their way for Heljarchen Hall within the next week.

Lagertha sighed, setting down the swaddle.

“Hildeira.” She called her eldest.

Eira looked up from her books, “Yes, mother?”

“Would you kindly ask your uncle if he would like to join us for supper? Tell him I’ll steer clear of any red meats this time.”

Hildeira scrunched her nose, but didn’t refuse her mother. She set down her quill and promptly made her way to the cellar entrance.

When she opened the hatch she was immediately greeted by an intense perfume of myrrh and some underlying thing Hildeira could never place.

Upon her descent, the overwhelming heat from ever-burning candles hit her like a wave. Past barrels of food and provisions for colder days, Eira found herself in the back half of the cellar where her uncle sat at his desk.

The old Argonian was dressed in soft orange robes that fell loosely to the floor. His green wrinkled hands working fast to write down his latest thought. Stacks of paper were neatly aligned on the desk, next to a leather binding that had yet to house all these pages.

“What is it you have to say child?” The Argonian asked.

Eira jumped when she heard his voice, like two rocks crushing sand between them. Eira found herself stumbling over her words.

“Mother...she asked me to invite you to dinner.” Then she added, “No red meats.”

“Apologize to the Lady of the house but I must decline.” he said.

Hildeira moved closer to him, trying to observe what he was doing.

“Uncle Kesh-Ra.” She started, “You’re always writing, but never finished.”

“An authors work is never finished, my dear.” He set his quill aside and looked back at Eira, his kind blue eyes never betraying his true age, “Help an old man…” He held out his arm.

Hildeira took his arm and led him to the nearest chair, where on a table next to it sat a small tea cup and a pot of water.

“There are many stories in this world, Eira daughter of Magnus, that are unfortunately lost in time. For people such as I, we must keep record of certain events, people, places…” Kesh-Ra sighed, “But many things are beyond your worries at the moment.”

Eira looked around the stony room, her shimmering eyes finally landing on a portrait she had never seen before. A young Bosmeri woman sat in a beautifully ornate green gown. Her currant-red hair pulled up loosely to resemble the sad statues Eira had seen in books of Cyrodiil. There was something so incredibly melancholy in her grassy green eyes, her black sclera so dark that Eira felt she’d fall into them.

Under her vine-tattooed hands was the obvious sign of a child growing inside of her.

“Who is she?” Hildeira asked.

Kesh-Ra looked as sad as the woman in the painting. He heaved a great sigh and patted Eiras hand.

“Your six-times great-grandmother, Niamh Cerrunhind. The very reason we are both here today.” Kesh-Ra gazed at the portrait, “There’s a sister portrait of this, I saw it once hanging in the main hall of the Imperial Palace. That one is far less scandalous.” He gave a dry laugh, his green scales seemingly gleaming with mirth, “The artist refused to repaint her, then the chancellor paid him twice his initial amount. She had to stand there for hours.”

“Why was it so scandalous, Uncle?”

Kesh-Ra looked back at Eira, “She’s the Bosmer who saved an entire country. They made her look more Imperial in the new one. They took away her proud tattoos, shortened her ears...they even painted her waist up so they didn’t have to paint her growing child.” He cleared his throat as if to do away with a coming rant, “But you are young still, Eira. There is much to learn of the world, and when you are older I would speak more of these things, just as I have your father, and his mother before him and so on. Perhaps you’ll finally be the one to listen to this old lizard.” He winked.

“Now go, little Eira, tend to your mother.” He waved her away, “I’ll see you in the morning for your lessons.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Eira waved at Kesh-Ra, running back to the ladder.

 

Eira was clearing away the plates from dinner when she thought she heard a strange commotion from outside. She came out of the kitchen, her mother still by the fire, her proud ears perked up in alert.

“Hildeira,” Lagertha looked at her daughter, “I need you to pull Luxaurea from its place.” She pointed a golden finger at the elven sword proudly placed on the wall.

“Yes, mother.” Eira carefully lifted the sword, weightless in her small hands.

“Hand it here, darling.”

Eira hesitated, but did as she was bade.

“I need you to take Alfanna into the basement with your Uncle. I will be down shortly.” Lagertha said, walking towards the foyer.

Eira ran upstairs to grab her sister, who began crying when she dropped her favorite doll.

In the moments Eira turned to pick it up, a loud knock came at the door, followed by the loud boom of wood falling on stone.

A bright flash resounded the home, Lagertha’s war-like cries echoing along with the light.

Eira wrapped her sister in her arms charging downstairs. She threw Alfanna at the basement door, taking up a dagger on a nearby table and charging into the dining room.

Tears filled her eyes when she saw her mother on the floor, her pregnant belly bleeding. Two men stood over her, black cloth over their mouths.

Eira felt a rage overtake her, and she rushed the two men. She barrelled one down, sinking the dagger into his stomach.

Before she could land another blow, Eira was heaved up by another man she hadn’t seen. She flailed in his arms, lashing out with the dagger. The man swatted it to the floor.

Eira screamed when she saw a woman in the same attire hauling Alfanna away.

Lagertha, half dazed and bleeding, reached desperately for her youngest as they passed. She claws at Alfannas leg with a mothers desperation before receiving a kick in the mouth by the intruding woman.

Eira flailed even harder, biting and kicking as hard as she could. The burly man holding her threw her out into the snow. Before she could reaer up and attack, Eira felt a rope around her neck as she was pulled back. Another man threw her into the back of a cart along with her sister.

She paid no notice of the other children in the cart, kicking as hard as she could at the latch that closed up the back of the cart to no avail.

“Keep that one quiet!” The driver shouted, a harsh woman's voice.

Eira saw the latch come down once more, the burly man pulling her forward.

The last thing she heard before going black were the screams of her mother.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Snarling, fangs shining, moonlight illuminating ferocious beasts, _

_ limbs tangling, separating, lunging, caught within deadly battle. _

_ Scarlet streams trickle from trees gouged like the bellies of their prey, _

_ canine fiends bare their teeth, their growls like black thunder, _

_ facing these soulless demons smeared with the blood of many.” _

**‘Vampire vs Werewolf’**

-AnnSura Moon

 

23rd First Seed 4E 174

 

Darkness fell over Riften. The ever present scent of fish and mold settled into the town like a disease.

Honorhall Orphanage sat like a squat toad in the shadows of Mistveil Keep, home to Jarl Erlking. The Jarl himself, a well-built man with severe features, slipped past his own door. His rich purple cloak trailing behind him as he deftly descended the steps to his keep.

A guard posted outside the orphanage looked away when the Jarl entered the building, partly out of secrecy, and partly out of fear.

Erlkings heavy footfalls jarred the strong facade put up by the mistress of the orphanage, Grelod the Kind. She made sure to see that the children were asleep before bringing the Jarl into her office.

Before the Jarl followed, he stopped at the edge of one bed. Fast asleep was a young boy of eight, dark brown hair in a scraggled mess.

The Jarl peered his deep brown eyes at the child, observing the gentle rise and fall of the boys chest with each sound breath. Erlking almost wanted the boy to awaken, to truly see if he had the sweet amber eyes of his mother.

To the boys left was a girl of the same age, skinnier and almost pallid with some sort of sickness. The Jarl sneered, his crooked mouth pursing in near disgust.

With a flourish of his cape, he continued his way into Grelods makeshift office. He dropped a coin purse in front of her.

“The rest of the month is here.” The Jarl said, his raspy voice sending a shiver up the Mistress’ spine.

“It’s weekly.” Grelod pointed out, looking at the coin purse with sweat on her brow.

The Jarl scoffed, “I should have you flogged for questioning the Jarl,” He put up his hand to stop her from grovelling, “The High King has called me to the South, and I wouldn’t want you sniffing around the Keep while in the charge of my Lady Aster.”

“Afraid your barren wife will know about the babes with your redguard maid?” Grelod sneered.

Erlking slapped her with the back of his hand. Pushing her face into the desk, he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Fool woman, with a word I could have you killed. I can only turn my eye away from your little operation for so long.” He roughly removed his hand, wiping it on his cloak before making his exit.

Grelod wiped the blood from her nose, sitting back in her chair. She watched the Jarl turn the corner before counting her coin.

Halfway through she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Boss…”

“What is it Henrik?” Grelod didn’t look up from her coin.

“He’s here.”

Grelods head shot up and she glared at the man standing in her doorway, “Tonight?” She quickly stood up, shuffling her way to the front of the orphanage, “Of all the times he could come…”

Awakened by the hushed whispers of Grelod and a man in a black mask, the boy opened his amber eyes ever-so-slightly. When Grelod and the man fell out of sight, the boy sat up, fully dressed in his ragged clothing. He creeped from his bed to wake his sister.

“Calla.” He whispered, “Calla…”

The young girl fluttered her olive-green eyes open. She smiled at the sight of her brother.

“Kujo, what is it?”

“It’s time, Calla.” Kujo said, pulling their bags from under their beds, “Grelod is busy, we need to run for it.”

“Kujo, I’m so tired.” Calla said.

“No, Calla,” Kujo shook his sister awake, “We have to go now.”

Calla slowly sat up, her joints aching.

Kujo put her over his arm, quietly shuffling their way towards the front door. The door to Grelods reception office was slightly ajar, and Kujo could tell Grelod was very unhappy.

“Fool!” She slammed her fists, “I didn’t ask you to raid the homes of Thanes! Urchins! Street rats! Wildling children if you must!”

“It was just the wife-”

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand…”

Kujo quickened his steps, Calla finally able to stand on her own. He creaked the front door open, each groan from the wood putting pins in his skin.

“Guard change.” He looked at his sister, “Let’s go.”

The office door swung open, Grelod reading over a ledger before she looked up to see the two children opening the front door, bags in tow.

“You rotten little ingrates.” She clenched her teeth, she hit the men beside her with the book, “After them! They’re two hundred septims a week!”

Kujo took Calla’s hand and made a mad dash out of the front door and into the thick darkness of night. He could hear Grelod screeching for the guards. Kujo nearly fell down the steps as he and Called raced down the stairs to the lower levels, the sound of heavy footfalls behind them.

The twins ran the full semi-circle around the lower part of the city, tossing barrels behind them to trip up their assailants. They stopped when they reached the gate.

“What do we do?” Calla asked.

Kujo looked down at the water, “Hope the gate doesn’t go all the way to the bottom.

He held his sister, taking a deep breath before throwing the two of them into the inky waters just before getting grabbed by the men in black masks.

Kujo swam blindly, his sister huddling close to him.

Down to the bottom they swam, Kujo’s heart sinking when the opening under the gate was too small for the two of them. Frantically he searched the bottom for another opening, lungs burning for air.

A loose board presented itself, Kujo kicking wildly to give them room to swim through.

Calla was the first to go through, her skinny frame fitting well enough. She waited for her brother on the other side, taking gasps of air before plunging back down to find him.

Kujo tried pulling himself through, the wooden frame getting stuck on his broad shoulders. He could feel the cloth shirt ripping, long splinters piercing his exposed skin. He pushed himself past his shoulders, trying his best to pull through.

He reached his hips before feeling a hand clasp on his foot.

Kujo kicked wildly, the hand pulling him back into the city.

Calla watched the bubbles slowly disappear as they hit the surface. She took a deep breath and dove back into the river. She felt her brother being pulled away and she steadied her feet against the gate, using all the strength she could muster to pull her brother to freedom.

The twins surfaced, Kujo gasping for air, blood from his shoulders slowly dripping into the dark water.

“C’mon.” Kujo said weakly.

They forced themselves to dive once more, avoiding detection by the men following them. Kujo led Calla past the small island housing Goldenglow Estate.

Every few moments one would surface, keeping their eyes on the torchlights coming from the city. Kujo finally pulled his sister from the water, soaked and chilled to the bone. Out of breath he fell to his knees, his fingers numb as he grabbed the muddy ground to stable himself.

Calla fell beside him, her lungs burning from the swim.

“They’re going to come for us, Jojo.” She said, voice faltering with each weak breath.

Kujo looked to his sister, “Not if I can help it.”

His legs wobbled as he stood, holding out his hand to help his sister to her feet.

“We’re going east, just like I promised.” He said, garnering every last bit of his strength to pull his sister away from the riverbank and into the thicket of forest. He hushed his voice.

“Travel by night, sleep by day. We won’t ever let Grelod rule us again, Calla.”

Calla nodded, “East.”

Kujo brushed her cheek, “Exactly. To Whiterun.”

“We can be Companions.” Calla smiled, “Travel all of Skyrim to help people in need.”

Kujo smiled, but his words caught in his mouth when he heard shouting in the distance. He held Callas shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

The twins disappeared into the brush, letting the black of night consume them entirely.

* * *

Days had passed, the twins only taking the road by night as to avoid the soldiers that had been travelling from all over Skyrim. Kujo watched them pass when he couldn’t sleep.

Tall men and women, all of them taking the road to Whiterun and then south. Kujo didn’t know why, but his stomach churned every time he heard the hard sound of metal on metal.

Calla would fall asleep each morning reminding Kujo what days had passed. And on this day she had told him it was the beginning of Rains Hand.

True to the months name, Kujo awoke to raindrops falling on his face. He stared up at the canopy, knowing that sleeping out in the open forest wouldn’t do them any good. He made out his sisters figure in the light of dusk, shaking her awake.

“Jojo?” Calla called for him.

“We need to find a better shelter, Cal.” He said.

Calla’s joints burned when she stood, her entire body exhausted from the days blindly following her brother through the wilderness. She shambled behind him, weaving through trees so Kujo could get a view of the road.

As Kujo sat and watched, Calla couldn’t help but feel a prickle at the back of her neck. The feeling sobered her, and she looked out into the quiet wood.

“Kujo.” She whispered, grabbing her brothers arm, “Somethings out here.”

Calla felt an intense heat radiate from her brother and he stood up. He pulled out a dagger they had stolen, staring through the trees.

It had been eerily quiet, the sun fully disappearing beyond the horizon. The rain had begun to fall fast, but Kujo kept his eyes locked on one spot between two fir trees. He narrowed his eyes, holding his breath. The grip on his dagger so tight he thought his knuckles might break.

Calla dared not move, her entire body rigid. Pins and needles crawled up her legs and stabbed her chest. A lump formed in her throat, and she tried to hold back fearful tears.

Kujo straightened himself to his full height, expanding his shoulders and puffing his chest out. His hands began to sweat, nostrils flaring when he saw the harsh yellow eyes moving slowly towards them.

Kujo let out an involuntary war cry. He felt as if he came out of his own body, raging tears falling from his face as he held the dagger up. Instinct kicked in, and he ran for the creature before it began to run for his sister.

His body collided with the wolf. Kujo grabbed it’s nap, pulling the head back before it snapped it’s iron-like jaws onto his entire head. Kujo fought back the sheer strength of the wolf, forcing it into the dirt to keep it away from his sister.

His eyes met the wolfs, and even in the darkness he could see himself in the yellow iris’. For a moment, there was a standstill. Kujo felt a stir in his chest.

The wolf bared its teeth, the snarl coming from its throat jolting Kujo with utter fear. Kujo remembered Calla was only just behind him, and it sent a bolt of electricity into his body, forcing the dagger into the wolfs soft belly. He screamed and stabbed again, watching the wolfs eyes as life began to fade away.

The wolf fell to the ground, and Kujo dropped to his knees.

He jumped when he felt Callas hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Jojo.”

Kujo wiped the wolfs blood from the dagger and stood back up. He met Callas sweet olive green eyes and felt his fear melt away.

“Are you hurt?” She asked.

“No.” He looked at the wolf.

Calla sighed, “I’m sad they had to die.”

“It was you or him.” Kujo said bluntly.

“They felt so lonely.” Calla said, “I don’t think they had a family.”

Kujo held his sisters hand, “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Calla held Kujo back.

She pulled two flowers she had kept in her pack and placed it by the dead animal.

“Now they’re not so lonely.”

Kujo just grunted in response, retaking his sisters hand.

The two were silent as they took to the road. Kujo was unsure of what to say after such an experience, and he wasn’t entirely sure of what Calla would do if he told her about what he truly felt in attacking the wolf. Instead he kept his thoughts to himself, focusing on each footstep he took towards Whiterun.

 

It was nearly dawn when the twins saw the silhouette of Dragons Reach in the distance. Kujo felt a swelling in his chest, proud that he and Calla survived the long journey from Riften.

The closer they came, the more elated Kujo became. He and Calla practically bounded across the river and through farmland to reach the stables in front of Whiterun.

The two ran up the hill and past the drawbridge, only to be halted by a spear.

A helmed guard looked the two children over and scoffed.

“Urchins.” He said, “Take your fleas elsewhere, little brats.”

Kujo puffed out his chest, “We’re here to join the Companions.”

This seemed to make the guard laugh.

“The Companions eh? Be serious, boy, and go back to the sewers you came from.” The guard said, signalling for the other guard by the gate to come over, “Leave now and tell your mother she should have taken the load on the back.”

Kujo felt heat rise in his cheeks, but Calla pulled him away.

“It’s okay, Jojo.” She whispered.

Kujo straightened himself, “Fine.” He said, glaring at the guards as they fell away.

The two of them sat outside the city walls, watching the last of the borealis fade away with the coming light of day.

“The nerve of those guards!” Kujo seethed, “I should have torn their throats out.”

“Kujo!” Calla snapped at him.

“Sorry…” He sighed, looking up at the wall.

Calla sighed, eyes lined with concern for her brother, “We need to find some food. The last of our rations won’t carry into tomorrow, which is the second of the month by the way.” She played with the long grass, shielding herself from the rain as best as she could.

Kujo stared at the city walls, bringing himself to stand up and test the stone. He gripped a jutting brick in his hand, hoisting himself to grab another.

“What are you doing?” Calla asked.

“I’m going to find you some food.” Kujo said, scaling the wall.

He was halfway up when he heard Calla gasp. Fear raced through Kujos body, and when he tried to climb back down he slipped and fell to the ground with a hard thud. Kujo scrambled to his feet, ready to fight.

He was met with laughter.

“Put your fists down, friend.” A boy said.

He was a few years older than the twins, a young man with dark and nicely groomed hair and clothes that weren’t torn. His golden eyes peered at Kujo with amusement.

“You’ll never make it.” The boy said, tilting his head to the side.

“I will.” Kujo snarled, pulling his sister close to him.

“Relax,” The other boy said, his voice gently soothing Kujo to relax his stance, “I’d like to help.” He took Callas hand and gave it a light kiss, “The name is Kieran.”

“Why do you want to help us?” Calla asked, pulling her hand away.

Kieran circled the two of them, “Two orphans trying to get into the city, turned down by the guards…” He tsked and held his chest with both hands, “My heart goes out to you, truly.” He sighed, “Truth is, you two won’t last in the city. How do I know this? Not too long ago a group swept through, taking with them nearly all of the children in the hold. Same in Dawnstar, Riften, Windhelm...you get the picture.”

“The men in the masks…” Calla whispered to Kujo.

“The same.” Kieran said, “Now I can’t just sit by and let anymore kids get taken by these people. So I’ve made...well I’ve made my own family. Us kids have to stick together don’t we?” He winked at Kujo, “Let’s face it. You’re tired, hungry, at risk of getting kidnapped in the next few days. We need each other.”

Kujo asked, narrowing his eyes at Kieran.

“Why us?” 

“I don’t discriminate.” Kieran said, “At least let me take you home, fill your bellies, get some rest...and if you still say no to my family, then you can be on your way to the next city.”

Kujo and Calla glanced at each other, the rumbling in their bellies seemingly agreeing with each other.

“One night.” Kujo said.

“Excellent.” Kieran said, extending his well manicured hand.

Kujo warily shook the boys hand, refusing to break the handshake until Kieran finally let go.

“Follow me.”

 

The twins found themselves in a hollow under a hillside. The entrance obscured by a roaring waterfall. The air was misty and wet, but ss Kieran led the two further on there was an undeniable warmth to the place.

Two primal tunnels led into separated caves. One was a storeroom, filled to the brim with barrels of food and basic needs like clothing and toiletries. Kieran allowed Kujo and Calla to take their fill.

The other cave housed a set of homely furniture; beds, chairs, tables, and a roaring fire. 

Kieran led them through the makeshift chambers, extending his arms out to the other children sitting and conversing.

“Friends,” He began, “I’d like to introduce the two newest prospective members to our home. Kujo and his sister Calla.” He hugged the twins under both arms, “May they be a welcome addition to the family.”

“Well I-” Kujo began, having a sweetroll shoved into his face as Kieran walked him and Calla around.

“Allow me to introduce you to Garrick.” He led them to a Nord boy standing by a boiling kettle, “An excellent cook and valued member of our family.”

Garrick hid his face behind his free hand.

“Hasn’t spoken a word to us yet, but I’m sure he’ll come around.” Kieran smiled, winking at the cook as they walked on past him.

“This is Hannah,” Kieran pointed to a Redguard girl patching up a pair of pants with a thin needle, “She’s the one to go to if your clothing is in disrepair which…” He looked at the twins up and down, “Yeah...”

“Don’t bother me now, Kieran,” Hannah sighed, “I still have to work on Skeevers shirts from your last escapade.”

“Ah!” Kieran said, turning the twins to the right, “You’ve got to meet Skeever!”

A young red headed boy lying across a bed looked up at Kieran. He gave a crooked smile and waved.

“Skeever?” Calla asked.

“Long story.” Kieran said, “But he’s the one to go to when you’re ready for a hunting party.”

“Hunting party?” Kujo asked.

“Yes!” Kieran held him by the shoulders, “How else are we going to feed our family Kujo? Hannah and Grigori,” He pointed to a boy sleeping by the fire, “Can only do so much in our gardens. Come winter, we’ll need meat.” His eyes began to glow at the thought, “Deer, elk...we’ll need to survive.”

“I see…” Kujo said, his throat drying.

Skeever cleared his throat, his tone almost taunting Kujo, “If fishing is more your speed, talk to Erida and Tarak.” He pointed to a nord girl talking with an orc boy.

Kujo shook Kieran away from him, “I hunt.” He said bluntly.

Skeever smiled and Kieran clapped Kujo’s back. 

“Ha! I knew you would be!” He said, a jovial grin on his face.

Calla shrunk back, “I don’t know…”

Kujo looked at his sister, panic running through his body, “Cal.” 

He pulled her away from Kieran, “Think about it. We’ll have security here. Food. Family...that’s what we want right?”

“It is…”

Kujo embraced his sister, “You don’t have to worry. I’ll take care of you.” He assured her.

“I know, Jojo.”

Kujo turned to Kieran, puffing out his chest.

“We’ve decided to stay.”

Kieran smiled, his golden eyes glinting in the fire-light. His expression stirred the same feeling Kujo had when he gazed into the eyes of the wolf.

“Welcome home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings apply, please be cautious before reading

_“We could be heroes,_

_Just for one day”_

**-David Bowie**

Last Seed 4E 180

 

Eira stared at the draped ceiling. The teal and gold embroideries swirling together across a fabric of lapis blue and sea green. The tent itself was rich orange and red, fine fabrics laying themselves across one another in a delicate fashion.

Eira closed her eyes when she felt a pair of hands grip her thighs. She tried to imagine the colors of the fabric, likening it to her memories of a Skyrim night sky.

_Focus._

Her fingers gripped the silk underneath her, her body moving with each thrusting motion of the man between her legs.

_Focus._

A bite on her shoulder. The heat of another body on top of hers.

Eira kept her eyes closed, trying to push away the sickness in her belly.

_Focus._

Soft pink skies, the stars dotting the purple as it melted into the rosy dusk. A cool breeze that shifted the trees and brought the smell of evergreen across the rolling hills.

The man was done before Eira could imagine the mountains.

He kissed her throat, pulling away from her body. Eira finally opened her eyes, not looking to Belethor as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

“A sad thing to know this will be our last time. Your master is seemingly growing tired of our regular conjugal visits.” He said, eyes leering over Eira’s body, “I will miss this.”

Eira felt bile rise in her throat, wishing she could spew it all over him.

Belethor moved away from her, beginning to dress himself.

“The years have been kind to us, pet,” Belethor said, “A couple unfortunate times where I happened to find your master put a babe in your belly. But I find the marks of a mother suit you.” He grinned.

Eira felt rage boil inside of her chest, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Business takes me back to Skyrim, and therefore I must leave you in Elsweyr, my precious pet.” Belethor said, finishing the buttons on his shirt.

He walked back over to her, pulling her head so she was forced to look at him.

“You always will be the best I’ve ever had.” Belethor whispered to her, dipping down for one last hard kiss.

Eira bit his lip and he reeled back.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Belethor just smiled.

“Give master Aurelius my regards.” He spit towards Eira, blood spattering onto her bare belly.

Eira watched the opening to the tent slowly flow back down before curling into a ball. She wept silently into the pillow, clenching her fists hard enough to draw blood.

A jolt of fear ran through her body when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Easy, child.”

Eira looked up and saw her friend Majra-Kai, a kind Khajiit woman with soft golden fur.

Majra-Kai took up a cold wet cloth and wiped away Belethors blood and semen. She soothed Eira as she cried, holding the girls face in one warm paw.

“This one thinks Master Aurelius should hang for letting that man touch you so soon after losing a child.” Majra sighed, “The again...Majra thinks Aurelius should hang for many things.”

Eira wiped away her own tears, “One day I’ll take us away, Majra.”

Majra-Kai grinned, “To Skyrim? Kar-Lichesa, you surely make this one laugh. Majra is too old to be in places that bring chill to her bones.” The she eyed Eira, “You are young. Do not let this make you weak. Aurelius keeps you complacent, but you and I both know that each time he puts his seed in you, the child will not be born. His line is weak, you are not.”

Eira sat up, wiping away the wetness of tears from her neck.

Majra took Eiras chin between two fingers, “I need you to tell Majra what you are, Kar-Lichesa.”

The words seemed strained in her throat, but Eira took a deep breath and spoke evenly.

“I am strong.”

“Yes.” Majra nodded, “Men like the Master will always try to keep women like you weak. A time will come when you will be stronger than he is, and on that day what do you say to him?”

Eira felt a ruge of courage rise in her chest as she looked into Majras golden eyes.

“I am Hildeira Longstride, daughter of Lagertha Alfsdottir and Magnus Longstride-”

“Yes!”

“And I am here for my revenge.”

Majra took Eiras face in both hands, “Every time he mounts you think of him as a sickly lion; and when the lioness is ready to take control of the pride she will tear him in half.”

Eira nodded, “I will.”

“Good.” Majra patted Eira’s cheek, “Today we work, tomorrow we hunt.”

Majra-Kai helped Eira clean the rest of her body, dressing her in soft orange robes that laid gently across Eiras pale skin.

“Once we are finished, Lady Elektra will be needing you for her afternoon bath.” Majra told Eira, “You will be in her service until she retires for the evening.”

“Yes, Majra.” Eira sighed.

“She has been spitting venom all morning, watch your tongue. And if she asks, you lost weight not a child. She’d rather you be fat than to admit her husband ruts with their house slaves.” Majra said.

“I will, Majra.” Eira said quietly, her heart aching for her most recent miscarriage.

Majra gave a curt nod of approval, “A slave you may be, but you’re still prettier than the Lady of the house.” She winked, making Eira smile.

She gave Eira a quick pat on the shoulder, ushering her out of the tent.

Eira took a deep breath and greeted the outside world. The warm sun shining on her face as the wind carried sand through the tents of the house slaves. Overseers on large horses hardly paid her any notice, keeping their eyes out for anyone who decided to run out into the desert.

People like Eira weren’t allowed to sleep inside, and it brought some comfort that Eira at least had some degree of separation from where Aurelius slept. But this came with a price, and Eira knew any escape would be hard met by the harsh desert that laid out before them.

Eira walked the sandy path up to the luxurious palace of her Master. The more palm trees that were growing, the less there was sand. And finally Eira came to the back entrance of the palace, where the cooks and house servants would move in and out.

The back entrance led through a small hallway before opening up into the lavish stables. Black stallions bred for the desert whinnied as Eira passed through.

She was making her way to the back stairs that led you to each level of the Palace before she was nearly run into by a large white mare.

Eira fell to the ground, quickly backing away before the mare stomped on her legs. Her heart raced, watching the rider dismount with hardly a care.

He removed his silky white cowl, revealing a young Nibenese man with bright green eyes. He smiled at Eira and held out his hand.

“A thousand apologies, my lady,” He said, his voice smooth and soft, slightly accented as if he had spent time in Khajiit cities, “My horse is easily spooked by creatures more beautiful than she. She can get jealous.” He brought Eira to stand with him, and she was taken aback to see that he was taller than she expected for an Imperial.

“If you’re the new steward then you have much to learn about letting your horse run recklessly through the masters home.” Eira pulled her hand away, half frightened at the thought of a whipping for his indiscretion, “Even staff such as yourself aren’t immune to his anger.”

The man let out a whistling sigh, “Then I sure am glad I ran into you rather than he.” He smiled, “Have no fear, my Lady, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Eira furrowed her brow, “I am not a Lady. You are a fool to address anyone but the Mistress so.”

“I see I have much to learn about this place.” The man let out a light chuckle, “I do hope I’ll see you more often…” He raised his brow as if to ask for a name.

“My name is of no concern to you.” Eira fixed her robes, “Excuse me, I am due to attend my Lady Draconia.” She began walking towards the stairway.

The man called after her, “I really do hope I see you again!”

Eira ignored him, and kept on moving.

* * *

Lady Elektra Draconia lazed in her rosy bathwater, flicking away petals when they got too close for her liking. She motioned with one hand and a large palm leaf shielded her from the hot sun.

The Lady threw her head back and sighed, taking care to make sure her long ebon hair never touched the water.

“Curse this sweltering country,” She curled her nose, “My fool husband couldn’t have chosen a better place to perform his business.”

She looked to Eira, who was holding a bird shaped aquamanile, and snapped her fingers.

“More rose water, girl.” She demanded.

Eira poured the red water into the bath with gentle precision, the Lady of the House slipping further into the tub. Eira felt Elektras colorless eyes on her face.

“You’re not ugly like the other Nord girls. I think I’ll have you wait on me for supper.”

Eira bowed her head in silent thanks, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

“My son is coming home this evening,” Elektra continued, happy with the compliance of her slave girl, “It’s put me in a particularly charitable mood.” She looked over Eira, “Perhaps I’ll have my maidens adorn something blue today rather than orange.” Then she looked at an older Breton woman, “Have the steward bring up the blue robes and have the prettiest girls wear them.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The mousy woman scurried away.

Elektra held out both arms, two of her ladies in waiting helping her up from the tub. Elektra stepped out onto a plush mat.

“Let’s start with you.” She held Eira by the chin, “I really am glad you shed the fat so quickly, my dear. How cumbersome for a slave girl…” Then she looked into Eira’s eyes, “And you are beautiful.” She tossed Eira’s head aside.

“I’ll have my son knowing house Draconia only buys the best of the best.” Elektra continued, talking to all of her slaves, “Let us cover our unsightly scars tonight, yes?”

“Yes, My Lady.” A quiet consensus rose around the balcony.

“Good.” Elektra took a deep breath, “Now get me out of the heat before my skin wrinkles.” She told Eira, who held her arm out for Elektra to take.

They sojourned to the Mistress’ chambers, a large domed room with a kingly bed. The room smelled of myrrh and sandalwood, and a refreshing breeze came in through the open doors that led to a seperate balcony. Elektra sat naked at her tea table, gorging herself with a rosy desert covered in sugar.

She snapped her fingers and pointed to the bed.

“That is what I’m to wear tonight, slave girl,” She said to Eira, “Take care not to rip it when you dress me. I want my son to know his mother is still perfect.”

“At once, My Lady.” Eira went to the bed, but was halted by a tsk from Elektra.

“I must finish my treat before dressing, fool child,” Elektra hissed, “I don’t want confectionary on my silk.”

“Of course, Mistress, you are insightful as always.”

Elektra snorted, but kept eating her dessert.

Once she finished, she stood in the center of the room, waiting for Eira dress her.

Eira drowned out the snide comments about the difference in their figures as she draped Elektra in rich finery. A deep red dress with zardozi embroidery, golden slippers with real rubies as large as Eiras thumbnail.

Elektra bade Eira adorn her long hair with golden threads as it was pulled up off her shoulders. Eira secured her Mistresses hair with diamond pins.

“I want my entire body to glow as I walk.” Elektra stared at herself in the mirror, lust in her eyes.

She handed Eira a lip brush, “Don’t ruin my face, girl.”

Eira carefully painted Elektras thin lips a dark maroon, she kept her hand steady, afraid if she slipped that Elektra would have her whipped. Once she was done, Elektra inspected her face.

“Not quite with the precision of the Nibenese. But, adequate for a Nord,” Elektra said, “And they say all you people know how to do is stick a sword in something.” She eyed Eira, “Among other things.”

Elektra let out a disappointed huff, “Now I’m ready for supper, but those fools haven’t dressed my slaves in the blue I wanted. I really do hate waiting.” She picked up a golden bell from her vanity.

The ring made Eira want to rip out her own ears, a high pitched noise that made her head hurt.

The older Breton woman came scuffling into the Lady’s chambers.

“Why haven’t my girls been dressed for supper. I’ve waited long enough.”

“Apologies Mistress Draconia, the laundress felt it necessary to press them to perfection before my Lady saw them.”

“Why wasn’t this already done?” Elektra snapped, her eyes glowing red, “Had I not asked this to be done earlier?”

“You did-”

“Yet I do not see my slaves in blue!”

“Right away, Mistress.”

The Breton hurried away. Elektra sat back in her chair.

“My poor body, to suffer and waste away waiting for my own slaves to dress themselves.” She rubbed her temples, “I shall require red wine this evening, Nord girl.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Eira moved to a golden bar to pour her Mistress a glass.

She carried it over gently, taking care to not spill it as she set it down for her Lady to drink.

“Amazing how such a slow child can bring my my wine, and yet my Breton cannot run to fetch an article of clothing.” Elektra sighed, “I might as well be sewing the garment myself.”

Eira stood uncomfortably as Elektra finished her glass of wine in a single gulp. The Mistress eyed Eira once more.

“My dear you’re so pale. It’s almost as if my husband never let you outside.” She laughed, “A house slave can grow fat so easily.”

The Breton woman hurried back into the room, carrying six blue kaftans.

“And an entire century has passed between the time I requested these to be done, and the time they arrive.” Elektra sighed, “Give the others to that sweet looking Bosmeri girl, the Colovian, that halfbreed, the blonde Nord who doesn’t drag her knuckles to the ground, and…” She sighed, thinking hard, “I suppose the Khajiiti who doesn’t look too much like a cat, she has the blue eyes to make up for the rest of her.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The Breton handed Eira her robes, and raced from the room to comply with her Mistresses demand.

Elektra turned to Eira, “Now, girl. Dress yourself.” She stopped Eira before she turned to leave, “No, no...here.” She pointed to the spot just in front of her chair, “Strip for me.”

Eira felt the heat rise in her cheeks and ears. She thought back to the colors of the Skyrim sky as she shrugged away her orange robes. They fell to the floor, and Eira saw a slow grin appear on Elektras face.

Elektra stood, striding over to walk around Eira. She ran a nail across Eira’s bare back.

“Deep scars from a whip. Most unattractive.” She said, “And these,” She ran her hand down Eira’s arms, “Black tattoos from the Khajiit slave trade. An unbecoming feature for a young girl.”

Elektra circled back around to face Eira, running her jeweled hands up Eira’s hips.

“Wide, just like a Nord.” She tsked, “And I wonder, if all Nord girls aren’t blessed with pink nipples like us beautiful Nibenese.” Elektra gave a sigh of contempt, “Remove your clothes and you really are nothing special.” She slapped Eira across the face, one of her nails drawing blood across the cheek.

Elektra wiped the blood away with a thin finger, rubbing it along her chin.

“Now I wonder, if this will finally make me desirable to my own husband.” Elektra said, her colorless eyes glazing over, “Maybe it’s your eyes.” Elektra grabbed Eira’s face and stared into her iris’, “I can never quite tell what color they are. Green? Blue? Dull grey?”

Elektra let out a maddened giggle, “Or might I have to just watch him fuck you?” She pushed the blue robes into Eira’s belly.

“Dress yourself, slave girl. Your Mistress demands you.”

Without a word, Eira did as she was bade, adorning the simple blue kaftan dress.

Elektra kept poking and prodding her body, and Eira just bought her thoughts back to the smell of pine in the forest. Hunting with her father. Torchbugs lighting up the trees so they could find their way back home.

Elektra cleared her throat when Eira was done.

“Now you shall walk me to the dining hall.” She said.

“As you command, Mistress.” Eira said sheepishly.

The descent down the steps became torturous, Elektra making offhanded comments every step as to Eira’s clumsiness and stupidity.

The dining hall itself was a grandeur room with golden arches and red walls adorned with paintings of Cyrodiil. At the tables head sat a squat man with fat cheeks and a greying moustache.

Eira felt her stomach churn when her Master Aurelius looked up and met her gaze. Then he looked to his wife.

“Elektra!” He held out his arms, “My darling summer flower, how radiant you are.”

“I know this, Aurelius.” Elektra sat in the chair Eira pulled for her, “Keep your comments for when our son graces us.”

“Which should be any moment.” Aurelius said, then looked at Eira, “I see you changed the slaves.”

“Antoni prefers blue.” Elektra said, nearly hissing at her husband, “Orange looks so unsightly with his beautiful sienna skin.”

“The boy can wear what he wants, Elektra.” Aurelius rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers, “Wine!”

A young boy hurried over with a silver ewer, pouring carefully as to not spill. Eira’s throat dried when a drop fell on the table cloth.

Aurelius hardly noticed, distracted by the cacophony of noise coming from the other end of the dining hall.

A large group of young men raced into the room, all of them punching each other and laughing. Elektra stood up and the men silenced themselves.

“Antoni!” Elektra said gleefully.

Eira looked to see the very same young man from the stables stride forward to give Elektra a kiss on the cheek. He snuck a wink at Eira.

“Mother, you are a jewel as always.” He took Elektras hand and kissed it, “And father, what a fine palace you’ve had built.” Antoni went to embrace his father.

Aurelius waved his hand, “Antoni, my boy, good fortune has struck us in this desert.”

“I can see.” Antoni said, stealing another glance at a paling Eira before sitting across from his mother.

The rest of his entourage sat down quietly, whispering to themselves inside jokes and tales from their exploits. It didn’t take long for them to start indulging in food and pleasant conversation.

“My dear, Antoni,” Elektra began as Eira poured her wine, “How was your time in Torval?”

“Exquisite. I could not have asked for a finer expansion in my education of this fine country.” Antoni said, “Lush jungles, good people, and an even better taste in music.”

“Poncy things, what a man should be doing is studying their ways in combat.” Aurelius said, “Gladiators in the underbelly of Elsweyr have been giving my fighters a run for their Septims.” He laughed into his third glass of wine.

“Such things are of no interest to a boy of Antonis upstanding taste,” Elektra said, “I’m sure he learned much.”

“Pellitine has been good to me these past years it’s true. I’ve made a great many friends and confidants in this country.” Antoni said, taking careful sips of his drink.

He glanced back up at Eira, who reddened in her cheeks each time. She was so embarrassed she hadn’t heard Elektra beckon for more wine until the Mistress snapped her fingers.

“Stupid girl.” Elektra muttered.

A frown fell on Antoni’s face.

The rest of dinner passed with strained conversation. Aurelius kept asking his son if he truly hadn’t gone to the arenas in Torval, and Elektra would snap at her husband when he said something she hadn’t liked.

Antoni sat back in his chair, “Mother, I would very much like to look around the palace.”

Elektra grinned, “Whatever you want, my dear.”

“Would I be remiss in asking for an escort, someone you would hardly miss?” Antoni gave his mother a sweet smile.

Elektra bent to the will of her son, “Take the girl, she’s irritating me anyways.” She waved Eira away and beckoned for the Breton woman standing in the corner to take over attending.

Antoni begged his friends to stay and enjoy their meal, quietly walking out with Eira into the great hall. The two stepped out onto a large vine covered terrace, the sun setting on the horizon.

Eira dropped to her hands and knees.

“Please, sir, you must forgive my behavior earlier this day.” She begged, “Had I known who you were I would never have spoken to you in such a repulsive manner.”

Antoni knelt down with Eira, gently pulling her up to meet his eyes.

“There is no need, my Lady. Your forgiveness is no good to me, for there is nothing to forgive.”

“But I-”

Antoni shook his head, “Far be it from me to have you flogged for trying to be helpful.”

He held her hands and brought her to stand with him.

Antoni placed his hand over his heart, “And now that you know me, might I have the pleasure of your name?”

“Eira…”

Antoni seemed to drink in the pleasure of saying her name.

“Eira,” He said, “If my classes do me justice, it is the Nords word for snow?”

“It is.” Eira hid her surprise, “How clever.”

“I had once enjoyed the tutelage of a man from the Mages College in Winterhold, Tolfdir. An exceptional mage, but he taught me a great many things about Nord culture as well.” Antoni said.

Eira narrowed her eyes at him, “You’re not at all like them…” She stopped herself from saying more about her Master and Mistress.

Antoni laughed, “Is it that obvious?” He nodded, “My parents know very little about how certain things work in the world.”

“And you do?”

“Only just a little more.” Antoni smiled, his green eyes lighting up his face.

A comfortable silence passed between them before Eira gathered the courage to speak up.

“You had asked for a tour…”

“A ruse, my Lady. I had the time to walk around earlier today,” Antoni told her, “No. I’m afraid I’m being forward in saying this but, I truly did hope just to have this moment alone with you.”

“Oh…”

“I am not a liar by nature. But something tells me I might need to work on that in the near future if I am to see you again.”

Eira hid her face, “There are other maids in the house. Others who…”

“Are not you?”

“Yes.”

Antoni sighed, “I cannot force what is not there. Should you wish me to go, I will.”

Eira met his eyes, “I am a slave. One bought by your father to do-”

“A detail that shall be rectified in time.” Antoni said, “Eira, there are many things I have seen in my few years of travel. There are many things I no longer believe in because of it. But I can firmly tell you when I say the moment our eyes met in the stables today I felt something, I truly do. One word from you and I will work to give you the world.” He held her hands to his heart, “We can beat them forever and ever, if you just give me this one day.”

Eira stared into his eyes, thinking of the evergreen trees under the Skyrim borealis.

“Just for one day?”

“I will never bother you again should nothing come of it.” Antoni promised.

Eira breathed in the smell of sandalwood drifting off of his clothes, and for the first time in a long time, she relaxed herself.

“Okay.”

Antoni bent down slightly so their noses were almost touching.

“Might I kiss you?”

“You may.”

Their lips touched and Eira felt a surge of energy bursting from her chest. Her head swam and it was like she was being lifted from the ground. His kiss was soft and warm, unlike anything Eira ever felt.

And in this moment, she knew.


	4. Chapter 4

_“Over hill, over dale,_

_Thorough bush, thorough brier,_

_Over park, over pale,_

_Thorough flood, thorough fire!_

_I do wander everywhere,_

_Swifter than the moon's sphere;_

_And I serve the Fairy Queen,_

_To dew her orbs upon the green;_

_The cowslips tall her pensioners be;_

_In their gold coats spots you see;_

_Those be rubies, fairy favours;_

_In those freckles live their savours;_

_I must go seek some dewdrops here,_

_And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.”_

**‘A Fairy Song’**

-William Shakespeare

 

1st of Sun’s Dusk 4E182

 

The scent of the sea wafted around the city of Daggerfall, cloaking it in salt and frigid cold mist. The moon was full and high, pulling up the tides and pushing them up onto the high docks of the stony marina.

Staring out over the sea was a dark stone manor. The grand home sat on an overlook, the salty spray of the high waves always out of reach.

A single light of a lantern scurried around a small set of stairs that led from the balcony to the basement.

Hardly yet nine-years-old, a little girl with bright ginger hair carefully stepped down the cold stone stairs. Her slippered feet began to freeze with each step she took.

Nearly slipping on a stair, she steadied herself, adjusting the lantern in her hand and continuing her way down the steps.

Once she reached the bottom, the little girl looked around to make sure no one followed, then scurried around to the back part of the manor.

A grandeur garden led the little girl to her family tomb. To the front were intricately carved wooden doors with long muzzled dogs chasing stags sporting antlers adorned with ivy. The little girl liked most the scenes of winged women wreathed in cowslips, carrying in their arms small woodland creatures.

Quietly and carefully, the little girl creaked open the ornate doors. A rush of warmth from freshly lit candles washing over her as she shut the doors behind her.

Her golden slippers tapped lightly against the stone floors as she made her way through the large tomb. Separate and elaborate mausoleums sat to the side, housing former members of her fathers family.

The name Mariquette followed her down, fanciful golden plaques bearing the proud name. The little girl seemed pleased to have been named after the many fine ladies of her past.

Lady Genevieve Elyrra Motierre-Mariquette, was a name the little girl knew she deserved, and she was intent on living her life in the lavish life her name would bring.

After descending another set of steps, Genevieve came to a room she knew was no tomb, but rather an embalming chamber. She paused her steps when she heard voices behind the wooden door.

One voice she recognized as her father, a deep baritone that soothed any tension in a room. Genevieve listened in.

“Marchioness Shoshana has specifically requested the black velvet for my mother, has this been seen to?”

“Yes, Marquis Mariquette.” A nasally voice spoke, “We sent for the ensemble at request of the Marchioness and they should be arriving from your estate in Camlorn early in the morning.”

“Good,” The Marquis sighed, “I wish to have everything ready for the funeral tomorrow evening.”

Genevieve peeked through a broken slat in the door, seeing her father standing by a table harboring a cloth covered body.

“You wish is my command, Marquis.”

Genevieve recognized the man as the embalmer who lived down in the city below. In his thin hand was a strangely curved tool that brought excitement to Genevieves eyes. She wasn’t quite sure what the tool did, but she craved to learn.

Her heart jumped when she heard the clip of heels behind her. She turned and saw her mother standing at the top of the steps. Her soft red hair perfectly coiffed around her oval face.

“Come to me, little lark.” Shoshana said quietly.

Head hung in shame, Genevieve made her way up the stairs to her mother. Shoshana met her height, kind blue eyes twinkling in the lantern light.

“And what are we doing down in the tombs?” Shoshana asked.

“I wanted to see gramma.” Genevieve told her, avoiding her mothers gaze.

Shoshana took her daughters hand and stood, the two of them walking from the tombs.

“My little lark, your grandmother has gone to embrace Arkay.” Shoshana explained, “Her body lies with us in Nirn so that we as her family can give her one last respect. She must lay in her eternal sleep.”

“What were they doing with the tools, mama?”

Shoshanna eyed her daughter, “My little lark was a nosy girl wasn’t she?”

Genevieve nodded, “Just a little.”

Her mother pursed her lips, then relaxed with a long sigh, “Very well...in order to prepare a body for their sleep, one must carefully remove inner organs. Then when that is done, a priest will come and bless the body with potions to preserve the body. Our teachings of Magnus have provided us with ways to honor our dead in Mundus so that Arkay may welcome the soul into his arms.”

Genevieve mulled this over in silence. And Shoshana walked on.

She led her daughter up the steps and back onto her balcony. The pillow figure Genevieve had left under her blanket was carefully moved back where it belonged.

“Tomorrow we shall say our last goodbye to your gramma,” Shoshana kissed her daughters nose, “Do not let what I’ve told you bring troubles into your mind, little lark. Death is a much celebrated thing in High Rock, and we must honor our ancestors in kind. Understand?”

“Yes, mama.”

Shoshana caressed her daughter, settling in for sleep. Once Genevieve fell asleep, she blew out the lantern. Shoshana quietly walked from the large bed, slowly shutting the door behind her and whispering to the dark room.

“Sleep well, mon petit.”

 

“Genevieve my little lark, hurry please.” Shoshana cooed, arm in arm with her husband.

“Yes, mama.” Genevieve scurried behind her parents.

She listened to her parents as they strode along the cobbled streets of Daggerfall, having just come from the temple with blessings to proceed with the funeral of the late Huguette Mariquette.

“Aldric, mon amour,” Shoshana spoke to her husband from behind a thin black lace mask, “Perhaps your sister will finally show her face today?”

Aldric scoffed, “Florina wouldn’t dare. Mother even wrote in her will she’d rather her body thrown to the wolves than to have that leech at her funeral.” He looked at his wife, his brown eyes clouded in melancholy, “Not everyone has your compassion, Shoshana.”

“We did send her a letter.”

“We did.” Aldric sighed, “And have yet to receive a letter of condolence. There is a reason I have control of the estates. Florina lives in Bruma like a fattened fox, eating Colivian hens. She has no need or desire to come to Daggerfall.”

“I suppose we shall have to see when we reach the top of the cliffs.” Shoshana sighed, picking up her daughter so that she may feel some comfort.

The family strode up the hill, a hard chill settling around them as they turned and came towards the top of the cliff overlooking the city. A heavy breeze carrying the scent of salt water fell over the manor as the family returned.

Shoshana set her daughter down, holding her hand the rest of the way.

The gardens, in their brief absence, had now been adorned with various dark roses, black carpet running through the center and into the family tomb.

At the end of the Mariquette family row sat a newly made stone chamber. Atop the tomb sat a stone carved effigy of a younger Huguette. Aldric cleared his throat, hiding his grief and continued on.

Genevieve felt a wave of excitement when her parents allowed her to step into the embalming room, now decorated with black cloth and roses.

Huguette laid across a finely decorated table, white candles illuminating her frozen face.

Aldric came up to where his elderly mother lay. He kissed her forehead, placing dried flowers and fruit beside her. Shoshana sprinkled blessed water across the body, then bent down to pay respects to her mother-in-law.

Genevieve held back when called upon.

The little girl stared at the cold body of her grandmother. Harsh white skin, blue lips, grey hair gently braided around her head and adorned with dead flowers. Yet the little girl found her to be so ethereally beautiful. She could feel the frigid aura radiating from the dead woman, thinking about how much Aldric looked like his deceased mother. The same high cheeks and cleft chin, hard lines along the forehead, a subtle frown to their lips…

Genevieve felt a rush through her body. She was near terrified the dead woman would suddenly turn her head and look at her, and was afraid Huguettes timeless beauty would enrapture Genevieve to steal her youth.

“Mon petit,” Aldric said quietly, “We must say goodbye to granmama.”

Genevieve warily stepped forward, her fingers itching restlessly under her pristine hand muff.

Then Genevieve remembered her mothers words from the night before, worried if she did not kiss the body then her gramma would never meet the embrace of Arkay.

She kept her amber eyes locked on the body as she bent down, afraid if she looked from her gramma the old woman would rise and steal her away like the carved fairies on the mausoleum door.

She backed away quickly when she was done, a soft pat from her mother reassured her it was the right thing to do.

Huguette Mariquette was laid peacefully in her tomb, her stone effigy delicately placed to seal her in for all eternity.

The small family walked away from the Mariquette tombs in a calm silence. Genevieve held her mothers hand, taking great strides to keep up with the pace of her parents.

“Are we to receive mourners today, mon amour?” Shoshana asked her husband.

“I am quite tired, my love,” Aldric grumbled, “Perhaps I will have the steward send guests away for the time being.”

They travelled through the back gates, entering the manor through a richly carved door that led into a large sitting room. Aldric set his cloak on a dark wooden rack, sitting to warm himself by the roaring fireplace.

Shoshana lounged on her velvet chaise, absently braiding her daughters hair as she spoke to her husband.

“Perhaps I will call on the steward to see to it that guests are filtered through me first?” Shoshana asked, “I would hate if the nobility of High Rock thought us to be ungrateful.” she raised her brow as if she already knew his answer.

“You think ten steps ahead of me as always, my love.” Aldric said, “My mother was a powerful woman with many...acquaintances.” Then he turned to his daughter, “Or I suppose we could always drop pies on the ones we don’t like. What flavor do you think, Veve?”

“Rhubarb.” Genevieve curled her nose, eliciting a lighthearted laugh from her parents.

“Rhubarb it is.” Aldric grinned, gazing adoringly at the two people he loved most, “We’ll save the rotted ones for the Thalmor.”

“Don’t start this, Aldric, you know High Rock gave up peacefully.”

“Idiots.” Aldric turned back to stare at the fire, “It was bad enough the King shoved me out of the war room-”

“Alric.” Shoshana warned, “Do not bore our daughter with regrets.”

A knock came from the door to the lounge.

“Enter!” Aldric shouted, his booming voice not phasing his wife or daughter.

An older Breton woman came into the room, dressed in fine red and orange robes.

“Marie, what is it?” Shoshana asked their steward.

“Marchioness,” Marie bowed, “I felt it necessary to inform you that the Dowager Orianne Giri-Motierre has just arrived in her carriage.”

Upon hearing the name, Genevieve perked up, “Meme is here!” She raced from the room.

Genevieve ran up the marbled steps from the lounge, throwing her hand muff to the ground as she hurried to the front hall.

Accompanied by a host of footmen carrying in large suitcases was a plump woman dressed in black finery. Her bright blue eyes perked up when she saw her granddaughter running for an embrace.

“Genevieve, my sweet!” She threw her arms up to hold the little girl.

“Meme!” Genevieve grinned, “Yesterday I was in the gardens and found a puffin! His name is Bob-Pierre and he likes to eat my leftovers and collects pebbles from my window!”

“A puffin?” Orianne laughed, “What a fine friend you’ve made!”

“Mother!” Shoshana ascended the stairs from the den, “I am so pleased you could come!”

“Shoshana, my sweet sparrow, of course. How is Aldric?” Orianne asked.

“I regret to say he will not be in attendance this evening, but asks me to extend his gratitude.”

“Of course, of course,” Orianne gave a wave of her hand, “I would not expect the Marquis to see an old woman in the midst of his grief.”

A rush of servants came through the entrance, heaving more luggage.

“So many bags, mother.” Shoshana remarked on the rapid traffic of footmen, “How long will you grace our home?”

“A fact I’d like to discuss over dinner and a warm brandy, Shoshana.” Orianne said, signalling to the steward for a meal to be prepared, “For now I would much like to converse with Genevieve over her puffin.”

“Has Bob-Pierre showed himself today?” Shoshana asked her daughter.

The little girl squealed in her grandmother's arms, “He came and took the apricot tart that cook gave me.” She said with glee.

“We must remember to thank him later when your cook makes those peach patissieres.” Orianne winked at her granddaughter, earning a giddy giggle.

“Then I shall leave you two to scheme as it were,” Shoshana smiled, “I will see if the Marquis may join us for supper.”

“Very well,” Orianne said, beginning to walk towards the ascending staircase, she looked to Genevieve, “Help me unpack my things, sweet girl.”

“Yes, meme.” Genevieve grinned, playing with her grandmothers braided red hair.

The winding stairs led up through a series of floors, the first being where the Marquis and Marchioness held their gatherings and soirees, the second where guests would spend their nights, and finally the third where the family itself had their chambers. Orianne had her own room set cozily in the eastern wing of the house next to Genevieves room.

The chambers itself were richly decorated with soft blues and painted seascapes. Genevieve remarked on the mermaids as her grandmother tucked away her travelling clothes. Orianne sat at a small table by the bay window, looking out onto the sea as she shuffled a deck of cards.

“Sit with me, mon cher.” She called to Genevieve, who was now adorning her grandmothers feathered scarf.

The little girl ran over and picked up her dealt hand.

As they played, Orianne began to engage in small talk.

“How have your riding lessons been.”

Genevieve shrugged, “I don’t particularly like my pony. She’s very temperamental.”

“A shame.” Orianne sighed, “I shall have to find you a new one. And what is it these half assed tutors are teaching you these days?”

Genevieve wrinkled her nose, “Restoration spells.”

“This displeases you?”

Genevieve sighed, “As if I didn’t learn wards when I was five. I’m constantly having to draw one up and explain its properties. So tedious, meme.”

“How droll,” Orianne sighed, “Some of these fools can’t tell a transmutation from a telekinesis spell.”

Genevieve snorted, knocking twice on the table. Orianne furrowed her brow, checking the cards on the table.

“Terribly clever.” She remarked, reshuffling the cards, “Or perhaps it is the cards in your sleeves I should commend?” She raised her brow.

Genevieve emptied out her sleeves, cards falling to the ground.

“If you’re going to best a member of the court, get better at your sleight of hand.” Orianne winked, then showed Genevieve a card under her own sleeve, “When I was young, I had to rely on my looks and charming conversation to cheat my way in cards. Unfortunately I am old, and had to learn how to actually do this.”

“Will you teach me now?”

“Perhaps during my stay.” Orianne said, “In the meantime, use those precious little cheeks.” She smiled, “You’ll be a fine beauty some day, and when the time comes you can always use these.” Orianne shook her chest, making her granddaughter snort.

A silvery bell rang by the door, signaling from the dining hall.

“Supper must be ready.” Orianne set her cards down, “We shall have to continue our lesson another time.”

Genevieve held her grandmothers hand as they prepared to leave.

“Will you also teach me how to use my looks?”

Orianne chuckled.

“Of course, mon ami.”

 

Genevieve watched torchbugs from her windowsill. Her thoughts drifted back to the embalming tools the priests held. How such tools could still keep Huguette beautiful even in death was a mystery Genevieve intended to solve.

A crisp autumn breeze flew in and mussed her hair and brought a chill in her silk nightgown.

As if sensing her daughter was out of bed, Shoshana appeared in the doorway.

“Cannot sleep again, mon petit?” She asked, carrying her daughter back to bed.

“I’m worried Bob-Pierre won’t know I’m here.” Genevieve said.

“He will know.”

“How?”

“You are his friend, and Magnus himself will send his magics down to let Bob-Pierre know you are back in your room for the night.” Shoshana smiled, pushing the hair away from Genevieves face, “But now it is time to sleep.”

“I cannot.”

Shoshana smirked, “Then I shall sing you to sleep.”

Genevieve settled herself into her plush pillows, covering her body with a soft blanket. Shoshana lightly traced her daughters forehead, drawing invisible runes to bring about a gentle sleep. Her voice was soft as velvet, and it lulled Genevieve into sweet dreams.

_“Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//NSFW incoming  
> There's some gay ass sex in this chapter and I'm not sorry about it  
> Enjoy!

“ _Off through the new day's mist I run_

_Out from the new day's mist I have come_

_I hunt, therefore I am_

_Harvest the land_

_Taking of the fallen lamb_

_Off through the new day's mist I run_

_Out from the new day's mist I have come_

_We shift, pulsing with the Earth_

_Company we keep_

_Roaming the land while you sleep”_

**‘Of Wolf and Man’**

-Metallica

 

17th Rains End 4E 183

 

Kujo sat in the thick brush, his body hardly moving as he took slow and careful breaths. His amber eyes peered through the lush green thickets, eying the supply cart coming down the road.

The caw of a false crow made his ears twitch. A young man with dusty brown hair sat up in the pines, holding his hands up to his mouth to make subtle bird calls.

Kujo moved silently behind a spruce tree that put him closer to the road. Nearly on his stomach now, he felt his heart pump faster and faster.

Across the road he could see Kieran settle himself up an oak, readying a nobbled bow with a homemade arrow. Kujo caught his eye, earning a wink that sent butterflies into his stomach.

The cart came closer to his position, and Kujo watched as a large armored Nord passed by with a greataxe at the ready. He heard more footsteps, but assumed they must be on the other side of the cart.

Like a sabercat, Kujo loosened his shoulder blades. He waited for the moment the end of the cart came past his tree.

Attached to the back was a young red haired Breton boy. Skeever deftly swung himself up into the back as the cart hit a bump in the road. He kept his head low, searching through the baskets. He looked behind at Kieran and gave a thumbs up.

In an instant, an arrow flew and struck true into the back of the drivers head. The two horses driving it reared back. Skeever pounced out of the cart, sinking a dagger through armor into a Nord woman.

Kujo jumped out, expecting to spar with the man with the greataxe, only to find him already dead in the dirt. He frowned, looking to his left to see Kieran about to be struck by a warhammer.

Kujo threw himself in front of Kieran, hardly having time to react before feeling a hit to the chest. Kujo fell back, his head hitting the ground with a hard thud. His eyes crossed for a moment, white noise filling his eardrums. He saw a blurry Skeever throwing daggers at someone.

Kujo looked straight up, having the conscience to roll to his side before the Redguard hit him again.

He felt his senses come back to him, sweeping the legs out from under his attacker. But as the man fell he brought his hammer down onto Kujo’s exposed arm.

Kujo didn’t scream when he felt the crack, instead using his free arm to drive a dagger into the mans neck. He didn’t check to see if the man had died, lolling his head back into the dirt. The sky swirled over him in brilliant blues and stark white.

Something warm pooled beside him and he looked over. Blood. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but something sticky came up when he tried to lift his head.

“K-Kier-” He choked out, a stabbing pain in his chest prevented him from calling out to Kieran, who stood stone still in utter shock.

His eyes began to close, and the last thing he saw was a burly Grigori scooping him up off the ground.

  


Calla tapped her foot, checking the entrance to the tunnel every few seconds.

“Cal, they’re fine.” Hannah told her, not looking up from her latest stitch.

“They’ve never done a job in the middle of the day before,” Calla pointed out, absently twining together bay leaves, “Something’s gone wrong.”

Garrick slowly walked over to them, not saying a word but gently placed a fresh bowl of stew for each of them.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Calla smiled at him, earning a blush before Garrick shuffled back to his kettle.

“All we can hope now is that they actually found us better supplies,” Hannah said, “Our clothes are running thin as it is with all these boys growing too fast.”

Calla gave a gentle smile, “And with all the children Kieran keeps bringing.” She looked over at three children drawing in the dirt, “They get younger each time.”

“An unfortunate reality of living in Skyrim, Calla.” Hannah sighed, “Kieran is giving them a place to belong.”

“At what price?” Calla asked, “Kujo comes back looking worse for wear every time. I know Kieran makes him do all the hard work and for what? Two loaves of bread and a quarter basket of carrots? Don’t get me wrong, I will always be grateful to Kieran for giving us a home, but I’m worried for Kujo…”

“Calla-” Hannah said quietly, looking up from her sewing.

“And another thing-”

“Calla.” Hannah stared at the tunnel.

Calla felt a rush of cold settle into her body, turning around to see Grigori carrying a bleeding Kujo. Calla remembered moving her lips, but not hearing the scream that came out. She rushed over to him and held his head.

“Kujo?” She tried to wake him.

“He hit his head.” Grigori said, grey eyes clouded over by tears, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Bring him to the infirmary.” Calla beckoned them to a newly carved out cave.

Three lonely cots cat in the back of the cave next to hobbled tables with an assortment of tools laid out haphazardly.

Grigori placed Kujo gently on a cot and Calla set to work.

“We have to stop the bleeding,” She said, “Bring boiled water and clear alcohol.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grigori said.

Calla wiped the sweat from her face and ripped open Kujos shirt, assessing the chest wound. She looked up at Kieran, who was standing uselessly in the doorway.

“What did you do?” Her eyes were ablaze.

“He came out of nowhere…” Kieran said, throat cracked and eyes wide.

“Make yourself useful and help me set his arm.” Calla barked.

Kieran sprung over, grabbing Kujo’s wrist.

“Now.” Calla held the arm and shoulder steady as Kieran pulled. Calla swatted Kieran away when the arm cracked into place.

“What do I do?” Kieran asked, looking helplessly at Kujo’s face.

“Find me splints and cloth wraps,” Calla told him, “And keep those children away.” She pointed to the three nosy kids standing off to the side.

Kieran rushed them away with gentle coos, but inside he was full of horrible anxieties over Kujo.

Calla spent days laboring over the care of her brother. Once she was satisfied his wounds were closed and bones set, she carefully poured a wheaty concoction into his mouth. Drips of saliva and potion dribbled down the corners of his lips, but Calla was satisfied that he had taken enough to reduce any damage she may not have seen.

It was well after the witching hour when Kieran came back into the room. He looked at the bags under Callas eyes and sat next to her.

“You should rest, darling.” He said.

“How can I?” Calla looked up at Kieran, “What if he wakes up and doesn’t know where he is?”

“You are a skilled healer, Calla,” Kieran set his finger under her chin, “He’ll be okay. Knowing Kujo he’ll wake up, rub dirt in it and ask when the next job is.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and then her nose, stopping himself from moving further down.

Calla pulled away, “I hope this job was worth it, Kieran.” She wiped away her tears and threw her bloody apron at him as she walked away.

Kieran sighed, moving his chair closer to Kujo.

He took Kujos hand and gently rubbed the knuckles. He looked up to the ceiling and began to pray.

“Lady Mara,” Kieran whispered, “These words come to you from a man who has done many wrong things, and has never once prayed to the aedra. But if I know Calla, I know she’s prayed to you.” He stifled a sob, “You are a Lady of compassion, so please show your mercy and spare Kujo.” He brought Kujo’s hand up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss, “I should have been the one in his place.”

Kieran bowed his head.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Kieran shot his head back up and saw Kujo looking at him.

“You shithead.” Kieran said with a smile, “You crazy motherfucker you…”

Kujo looked up at the ceiling, “Did everyone make it okay?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

“The supplies?”

Kieran nodded, “Plenty of smoked meats and even some clean wools.”

“Then you can tell Calla it was worth it,” Kujo smiled, “I’m assuming she’s pissed.”

“You have no idea.” Kieran laughed, “I think she’ll hate me for a few years after this. You’ll probably never see the sun again when she finds out you’ve woken up.”

Kujo scoffed.

Kieran gave Kujo a sly smile, “You know…” He started, tracing circles along Kujo’s hand, “She wouldn’t have to worry about you getting hurt if you truly joined me and accepted Hircines gift-”

Kujo sat up and cut Kieran off with a hard glare, “Give it a rest, Kieran,” He leaned in and whispered, “I don’t want it.”

“Right.” Kieran waved the conversation away with a gentle laugh, “I know.” Then his golden eyes softened, “You really scared me for a while.” He hesitated, then breathed in a heavy sigh, “I never want that to happen again.”

“It comes with the job, Kieran.”

“You what I fucking mean.” Kieran shot back.

Kujo peered his eyes at Kieran and took his own hand away, “I did what I had to do.” He pulled his hand away, “I would have done that for any one in our family. You’re not fucking special, Kieran. What you think because I noticed the little winks and the sly flirtations that suddenly I’m going to protect you above the rest?”

“Fuck off.” Kieran stood up , stomping away.

Kujo gently let his head fall back onto the pillow. Trying to slow his breaths as to not incur any more pain into his limbs or chest. He sucked in a warm breath, steadying himself.

It wasn’t long before he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

 

A week had passed and Calla finally let Kujo walk about on his own. She still screamed at him when he tried to convince her he was ready to go back out. Once or twice he tried sneaking away with Skeever, but Garrick always dragged him back into the cave to face Calla’s wrath.

Kujo hadn’t spoken to Kieran in days. Every glance was quickly averted, every accidental touch of the finger had been quickly recoiled. Kujo felt sick he had lashed out in anger, knowing it really wasn’t what he felt for Kieran. Secretly he hoped Kieran knew that.

Kujo sat quietly with his sister, who had Garrick sitting with her to melt down beeswax for their candles.

“Kujo, pass me the lavender.” Calla said quietly, slowly stirring her mixture.

She noticed her brother wasn’t listening and sighed.

“Garrick?” Calla looked to her friend with a weak smile.

Garrick just nodded and handed her a mortar of dried lavender.

“Kujo,” Calla said, “I’m sorry but you’re not ready to go back out on those jobs.”

“Hmm?”

“He’s not even listening to me.” Calla glanced at Garrick, who just shook his head.

Calla gave a weak smack to Kujo’s leg with the back of her hand, “Make yourself useful at least and get more wood for the fire, I can’t have any of the wax hardening if we’re going to sell these.”

“Fine.” Kujo grumbled, then said quietly to himself, “It won’t make us enough money but whatever.”

“I heard that.” Calla called back.

Kujo rolled his eyes and went back into the stores. He smirked when he saw the large pile of wood sitting in the corner. Defiantly, he lifted all of them into his arms, walking back to his sister with a shit-eating grin and dropping all of the logs by her feet.

Calla didn’t stop her stirring, “You’re not proving anything. In fact you just ripped open a stitch, moron.”

Kujo didn’t look down, but knew a wound on his chest had begun to seep blood.

“Fuck.”

“Hannah went to go talk to Kieran.” Calla said, still not looking up from her pot, “Try not to bench press anything on your way there.”

“Love you too, Calla.” Kujo sighed, puffing out his cheeks and blowing out air as he walked to the other side of the cave.

The quarters for the original members of the pack had dug out their own rooms years ago. Most of the others that Kieran had recruited from thereon in had to sleep in the main part of the cave.

Hannah and Calla began sharing a room when they got older, so Kujo had to start rooming with Garrick. Not that Kujo minded, the man never spoke a word so Kujo never had any qualms with him.

Kieran of course had his own room to himself, as he was the self elected leader.

Kujo ruffled the red cloth that hung as a door into Kierans room.

“Come in.” Kieran said.

He and Hannah sat with a map, rolling it back out when Kieran saw it was only Kujo.

“I uh-opened a stitch again.” Kujo said, blushing when Kieran smirked.

“Am I going to have to knock you out at this point?” Hannah asked, beckoning for Kujo to sit on Kierans bed, “Sit still.”

She took out her sewing supplies from a pocket in her dress, using a cloth she soaked in alcohol to clean the needle and wound.

Kujo averted Kierans gaze while Hannah worked quickly to stitch the wound. She patted his pec when she finished.

“Stop showing off in front of the others. This isn’t a pissing contest.” She eyed him.

“Yes, mom.” Kujo smiled, earning a hit on the shoulder.

“Do it again and I’ll sew your mouth.” Hannah warned him.

Kujo felt he couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, but stopped when he heard Kieran say his name. He looked back at Kieran.

“You look better.” Kieran said dryly.

“I know.” Kujo replied, then exited the room.

 

Kujo could tell it was late when even Garrick had fallen asleep. Kujo laid in his bed for a few more minutes, tossing and turning to try and get comfortable. He huffed when he just couldn’t find the right position.

Slowly, Kujo sat up, trying not to disturb Garrick. Even in his sleep the man was silent still.

Kujo thought about going to see Calla, but she had been sick again and he knew she needed rest. He looked far down to Kierans room, seeing a candle still flickering behind the red cloth door.

He swallowed his pride and strode forward.

Kujo hadn’t even touched the cloth when Kieran whispered.

“Kujo?”

Seeing this as an invitation, Kujo let himself in. He saw Kieran sitting at his makeshift desk, still looking over his map.

“Can’t sleep again?” Kieran asked.

“No.”

Kujo caught a peek at the map.

“Planning another raid?”

“Not for a while.”

“Why?” Kujo asked.

Kieran eyed him, “I think you know.”

The map was rolled away, Kieran tucked it back into his patched leather bag. Kieran got up and sat next to Kujo, placing a few fingers on Kujos knuckles. Kujo laid his head on Kierans shoulder.

Kujo watched Kierans fingers trace delicate circles around his hand four hours it seemed, calloused fingers carefully gliding over long healed scars.

A shock ran through Kujo when he felt both of Kierans hands on his face, lifting it so their eyes met.

Kujo could read every expression Kierans golden eyes. Waves of regret washing over the deep impassioned affections Kieran held for Kujo. In turn, Kujo softened his own eyes, letting Kieran know that yes, he felt the same.

Kieran leaned in for a soft kiss and Kujo accepted without falter. Kieran took his invitation and lowered Kujo gently onto the bed. He kissed the open parts of Kujos shirt, moving down until his lips touched Kujo’s erection. Kieran looked up at Kujo, his kiss lingering. Kujo raised his brow as if to say ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’.

It was with slow and intentionally teasing movements that Kieran removed both of their clothes, making sure he still had Kujos attention by gliding his hands once or twice up Kujos dick.

Kieran worked the both of them over, wanting Kujo to not move at risk of hurting himself, or breaking Kierans pleasure of control.

Kieran gauged Kujos willingness to let Kieran fuck him, using his tongue at first. Every arch of Kujos back gave Kieran the answer he craved. Kieran licked slowly, rubbing himself at the same time. When Kujo began to tear at the blankets, Kieran stood up and reached for a partially used bottle of oil.

He gave Kujo a wicked smile, dowsing Kujos asshole and began using his fingers to fuck him. Kieran made it excruciatingly slow, wanting to savor every single one of Kujos moans. He added a second finger, watching Kujo’s amber eyes widen with excitement.

Kieran pulled his fingers out and lowered himself so that he could give Kujo a long and passionate kiss, all while rubbing the tip of his own dick around Kujos asshole.

“Are you ready for me?”

Kujo didn’t speak, only biting his lip and nodding eagerly.

“Good.” Kieran kissed Kujo’s neck, gently sliding his tip inside.

Kujo’s breath hitched, and Kieran stopped moving further. He moved himself off the edge of the bed and settled himself once again between Kujos legs.

Once more he pushed his tip in, moving in and out so Kujo could acclimate to the size. Kieran added more oil, pushing himself further into Kujo’s asshole.

Kieran moved faster. He didn’t stop until he could fit his whole dick inside. He held himself inside, feeling Kujos ass tighten around him. Kieran closed his eyes, starting to fuck Kujo with long hard strokes.

“Are you going to come for me?” Kieran asked, watching Kujo stroke himself.

Kujo nodded, moaning as Kieran fucked him faster and faster.

His stomach tightened, and Kujo finally released himself. His cum spilling over onto his stomach and chest.

Kieran held himself inside Kujo and fucked even harder when he saw Kujo cum. He spilled himself into Kujos ass, waiting to pull out until he was finished.

He slowly pulled his dick out, watching his own cum spill out of Kujo. He smiled.

“There’s a wash bin in the corner. Go clean yourself and then come back to me.” Kieran ordered.

After cleaning himself, Kieran watched Kujo. His eyes ran over every curve of his ass, the muscle in his arms, the dips in his back. Kieran wanted it all. Kujo looked over at him and came over when Kieran pat the bed.

The bed itself was too small, so Kieran laid himself on top of Kujo, who was undoubtedly larger.

Kieren littered kisses over Kujos neck, and in turn Kujo ran his strong hands along Kierans shoulders to massage the muscles.

The two of them laid in silence, and when the candle finally burned out, the two drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this shit skips around a lot but I've got a lot of content to go through so bear with me. Enjoy!

_“Dark clouds drift within_

_The longing lures pulls my mind_

_Will you carry me?_

_I want to go”_

**-Wardruna**

 

2nd Evening Star 4E 184

 

Eira felt a tickle on her nose. Her eyes fluttered open and she was met with a warm smile from Antoni.

“You were talking in your sleep again, my love.” He said, stroking her hair.

“Did it wake you?” Eira asked.

Antoni shook his head, “I was already awake, no need to worry.” He gave a blissful sigh, “I think I spent hours feeling the baby kick around your belly.”

Eira rested her head against his chest, looking up at the mosaic ceiling in their personal suite. Morning air filtered in from the plant-covered balcony, the din of early rising workers began to flood the streets of Corinthe.

Eira rested her hand on her swollen belly and sighed.

“You were saying your sister name.” Antoni told her.

Eira nodded, “I dreamt I was home.”

Antoni kissed her forehead, holding her hand as she felt their child stirring inside her.

“I promise when we are able, I will take us from Elsweyr.” Antoni told her, “I’ve nearly finished all my arrangements.”

“You’ve been saying that nearly four years now, Antoni.”

“I know,” Antoni frowned, “The situation is delicate. As it is my mother grew suspicious when I requested to take you to Corinthe nearly a year ago. I wanted you to be away to grow our child in peace. My father has never been a man to relinquish what he thinks is his, by law you are still his property as disgusting as it is to think about.”

He saw Eira growing restless and added, “When the baby is born, you will need a month to recover. When that month is out I’ve arranged for us to steal over the border into Cyrodiil. The Empire by law outlaws slavery, Elsweyr will not last long under its thumb. In Cyrodiil you will be free.” He promised her with a kiss on her hand.

Eira settled back into their bed, “What will we do in Cyrodiil?”

“Anything you desire.” Antoni cooed, “I have a small home in Leyawin we can reside in for a time. I’ve made sure to send over a hefty allowance for us.” He moved to kiss her cheek, “I never want you to have to want for anything ever again. And eventually I’ll get us to Skyrim for you to see your family again.”

Eira closed her eyes and pictured living life with Antoni. She gave a long delighted moan.

“Say more nice things.” She curled into him.

Antoni smiled, “The house has a terrace. Last I was there was in the summertime. Bright blue morning glories trailed around the columns. Each morning the sun peeks through the balcony to awaken you to a beautiful day. I’ll bring you a warm tea and we’ll sit and read to one another until our children rush in.”

“Children?”

“Don’t you want more?” Antoni felt his chest jump, “If you just want the one I would be happy nonetheless...if I insulted you-”

“Antoni,” Eira stopped him, “As long as it’s with you. We’ll fill the house with children.”

Antonit moved himself so he faced her, “I adore you with each passing day.” He took up her hand once more and kissed up her arm, her giggles making him grin ear to ear.

“Will they have Nibanese names?” Eira asked, “Or Nord?”

“A compromise of both?” Antoni suggested, “As it is you’re keeping this ones name a secret.” He pat her stomach.

Eira scrunched her nose, “It’s tradition in my country.”

“Not even a hint?”

“No.” Eira playfully hit his shoulder.

Antoni chuckled and gave her a kiss on the lips, “Keep your secrets then. I can be patient.” He got up from their bed and threw on his silky robe, “As it is we won’t have to wait long now. One more week according to the doctors.”

“Not long at all…”

Antoni went to the door and rang for breakfast to be served. Then he excused himself into the bathroom. He called out to Eira.

“I was told we’d be having mangos again today, my love. Though I may have had some influence on that decision,” He laughed, looking in the mirror to fix his hair, “I know you enjoyed them when we went to go see that play at the theatre. What was it called again? ‘A Night with the Mane’?”

He set his brush down when Eira didn’t say anything. A chill ran through his spine and he rushed back into the room.

Eira was sitting up in bed, a sweat broke out all along her body. The entire bed was drenched in fluid, Eira’s legs shaking violently. Her head shot up and she looked at Antoni.

“Send for the doctor.”

 

Antoni paced the hallway, his heart wrenching every time he heard Eira screaming. Half a day had gone by and Antoni felt like tearing out his own hair.

Every now and again a servant would pass by and make sure Antoni had something to eat or drink, but Antoni had no interest in such things. He just wanted to know if his family was okay.

Another few hours into labor Antoni felt like he was at his wits end.

Eira had let out another scream and it was followed by silence. Antoni almost vomited on the floor, expecting the worst.

The sound of a baby crying nearly made him weep. The doors to their suite swung open and Majra-Kai greeted Antoni.

“Mother and cub are both just fine.” She said, tears in her eyes, “The moons have blessed you both with a girl.”

“A girl?” Antoni smiled, “Can I see them?”

“Kar-Lichesa must push away the afterbirth, when she is done you may enter.” Majra told him, “In the meanwhile I will procure a room that is not stained with the blood of labor.”

“Thank you, Majra-Kai.” Antoni hugged her, “You’ve been a great boon to us.”

Antoni waited patiently until the doctor bade him to come in.

He saw Eira sitting on the bed, pale as ever but with a bright smile on her face. In her arms was a small bundle in red cloth. Antoni nearly tiptoed over as to not disturb anything.

“You look so beautiful.” He whispered to Eira, kissing her forehead, “I’m so proud of you.”

He looked down and saw the tiny baby grasping on Eiras finger. She slept peacefully in her mothers arms.

“Divines above,” Antoni said breathlessly, “I didn’t think I could love something else as much as I love you.”

Eira cooed to her daughter, “Thyri, this is your papa.”

“Thyri?” Antoni looked to Eira with tears streaming down his face.

Eira nodded.

“It’s perfect,” Antoni kissed Eira once more, “Thyri…”

“For all the things I’ve endured, I would do them all again just to gaze upon her face for the rest of my days.” Eira told Antoni.

The khajiit doctor came over to speak with Antoni. Eira didn’t pay attention to their muffled voices and instead kept her attention on her baby.

So long she had wanted to have a child to call her own. And even better still it was with a man whom she adores. Eira couldn’t keep herself from smiling, wanting nothing more than to live in this moment forever.

Antoni moved back beside her, “You need to rest, my love.”

Instinctively, Eira held her baby closer to her chest, “Where are they taking her?” Her eyes wide with fear.

Antoni soothed her, “I will take her while you sleep. I’ve made sure her crib is right next to our bed in the new suite.”

Eira relaxed, “Alright.” She was hesitant to let the baby leave her arms, but was assured by Antoni he or Majra would be the only ones to hold Thyri.

The small family was moved into their new quarters. Antonit laid Eira gently upon the bed and upon as many pillows as she desired. Majra made sure to provide Eira with the linens she needed for any bodily discharge that may come.

Thyri was laid in her crib right next to Eira, the baby sleeping the whole time. Eira knew she wouldn’t sleep long, but was elated with the idea of mothering this small child.

Exhausted and sore, Eira tried her best to stay awake and keep an eye on Thyri. Antoni moved in next to her and rubbed her temples to bring her to sleep.

She drifted off listening to him humming a lullaby.

* * *

 

It was dark one night as a lonely carriage strode through the streets of Corinthe. Only a slight chill in the breeze gave any hints that Morning Star had come upon Nirn.

Inside the cart, Eira held Thyri close to her chest. She was rushing to meet Antoni at the edge of the city, where they would take another carriage to Rimmen and cross into Cyrodiil soon after.

Thyri cooed in Eiras arms, and Eira held her even closer.

A month had passed since Thyri had been born, and Eira grew uneasier each day. Something had crawled into her brain that something was going to happen, but she wasn’t sure what. She used her free hand to pull her cotton cowl to further obscure her  face from passers-by.

She kissed her daughter in the forehead and hummed quietly to her as they journeyed to the outskirts of the city.

Lantern lights appeared in the distance, small beacons of hope for a new future and life as part of a family.

The carriage stopped just outside an abandoned temple. Eira quickly stepped off, holding her daughter even closer to her. She trudged through the sand and through a pair of dilapidated pillars.

The etchings were worn, but Eira could see figures of khajiit with spears adorned on the pillars. The Khajiit seemed to be throwing their weapons at a large cat that seemed to be mostly scratched away.

Eira felt chills run up her spine and she followed a small path through the temple. She could hear horses and knew Antoni was waiting for her. Eira turned the corner and stopped dead in her tracks.

Astride the horses were Aurelius and a few of his palace seers. Next to an unassuming cart was Antoni, a blade to his throat. Aurelius dismounted, motioning for one of the Dunmer seers to follow. He strode forward to close the space between he and Eira.

“Hello, girl.” Aurelius eyed her, “And with a baby.” He looked back to Antoni, “Well I suppose this is why you’ve been gone so long.” He snapped his fingers and the Dunmer seer strode forward.

Eira felt her adrenaline take over, pulling out a knife she kept strapped to her thigh. She pointed it to the seer and snarled.

“You keep away.” She warned.

Aurelius tsked, “Put the knife down.”

Eira saw the blade near Antonis throat grow closer, drawing blood.

“I see that look in your eyes,” Aurelius said, growing closer to Eira, “Surely if Elektra were here she’d object but. Seeing as he’s not really my son I’ve made some allowances. Antoni will suffer if you cause any more trouble.”

“Eira, don’t.” Antoni called out.

Eira was frozen in place, her eyes darted around looking for an escape, finding none. The dunmer seer stepped closer and Eira held the knife up higher, her heart pounding faster and faster.

“Don’t make this difficult, girl. I’ve half a mind to send you back to that Breton bastard. A lot of money I wasted with you,” Aurelius said, “But I’m merciful. Come back to my palace, and I promise I will let Antoni and...your unfortunate child...go free.”

Eira quickly calculated her options, but her shoulders fell.

“They’ll both go free. If I go back?”

“You have my word.” Aurelius held his hands to his chest.

Eiras hand shook, but she dropped the knife into the sand.

Antoni broke away and rushed to her. Eira pushed Thyri into his arms and shoved him behind her.

“Antoni, run.”

“Eira?”

“Just go!”

Antoni began to back away, tears streaming down his eyes. Thyri began to wail. Eira felt her heart tear itself in two as she screamed again for Antoni to run.

As she watched the sand settle after Antonis footsteps, Eira held a strong hand on her shoulder.

“You’ve caused me much grief, slave,” Aurelius said, “Perhaps you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” He removed his hand and walked to his horse.

Eira turned just as a fist met her face.

* * *

 

Everything was blurry.

Eira rocked side to side, her hands chained up the the top part of a cage. She was squeezed in with other slaves from Aurelius’ palace. Her head lolled to the side and she saw Majra-Kai.

“Majra?”

“Kar-Lichesa.” Majras eyes grew wide.”

“Where are we?” Eira asked.

Majra tried to pull on her chains to get closer to Eira, but the cage was too crowded. Her shoulders fell in defeat.

“This one knows we make our way to Orcrest. To the Arena. The pig finally decided we were too strong for him. He sends all the strong ones to the Arena.”

Eira looked up to the sky, the sun blazing above them.

“Akatosh...Mara…” Eira said weakly, “If you hear me. Bring me the strength to endure what is to come.” She let her head fall in between her arms.

The cart came to a sudden stop. The driver came around and opened the cage, pulling on the first slave he saw. The chains rattled through the cage, and Majra and Eira came off their connection to the top of the cage.

They fell in line, stumbling behind other exhausted slaves as they came into the underbelly of the Arena. Different stages of blood stained the sands under their feet, and it was the first time Eira noticed she was dressed in torn rags.

Eira felt a pull on her chains. She glanced behind her to see one of the slaves fall over in either death or exhaustion. The crack of the whip deemed it to be the former.

The chained slaves moved into a single room. Eira smelled the rank aroma of piss and sick hit and her stomach churned.

Aurelius had finally thrown her into one of the last operating Arenas of Tamriel. Eira knew the ones Aurelius associated himself with meant the death of slaves such as herself.

The room swirled around her, everyone knowing they were purley fodder for entertainment. The gate opened and the first line of slaves were shoved out. Eira felt her stomach drop, knowing she was next.

Eira closed her eyes and ran options through her head. She could just be part of the wave that immediately gets slaughtered by the gladiators above, or she could fight.

She took a deep breath and focused. She drowned out all the sounds of vomiting, crying, praying, and begging.

Up above they could all hear the roar of the crowd, a resounding thunder that deafened their ears.

Majra-Kai fell in next to Eira.

“It seems this one is to go to her death.”

“Don’t say such things, Majra.” Eira said, “Stay with me.”

Majra chuckled, “If it will bring you some comfort then I shall.”

The gate opened once more. Majra and Eira were disconnected from the chain and thrust out into a small wooden hall that ascended to the Arena. The second gate that led to the Arena began to open, and Eira took off at a sprint, intending to grab the first weapon she could find.

The group of slaves came to the scene of a massacre. Three gladiators brandishing their weapons and getting a rise out of the crowd. All three turned and saw the new wave of slaves to slaughter.

Eira ignored the dead Breton slumped over a worn club and she pulled it out. Two of the gladiators ran for the group, but one with a Khajiits head brandished atop his helmet went straight for Eira. He ran at her with a spear, aiming for her stomach. Eira rolled out of the way, just trying to stay out of the path of the blade.

Again he thrust the spear at her,, the blade getting stuck in the skull of an orc. The gladiator tried pulling it out, but at the same time Eira swung her club at the bending handle and broke it in two.

The gladiator fell back, giving Eira time to pull out the steel spearhead and plunge it into the gladiators exposed neck.

Eira looked over and saw that the other two gladiators had slaughtered the other slaves. She saw Majra sitting in the sand, blood streaming down her face and resigned to die.

Eira took her club and hurled it at the orsimer gladiator about to swing his axe into Majras head. She took the sword from the dead gladiator and swung it to test the weight. Her mother hadn’t taught her much in the way of battle, but she knew how to hit her target with a sword.

The gladiator rushed for her just as another wave of slaves came through the gate.

Eira could see his eyes under the helmet, and they were filled with bloodlust. She steadied herself, waiting at the last second for the orc to swing his axe before rolling out of the way. She slashed at his heels, tearing one of the tendons to his leg was rendered useless.

The orc stumbled away, trying to regain his balance before swinging his axe at her again. Eira used his injury to brush away the blade of the axe, closing in so she could plunge the sword directly into the orcs chest. The orc slumped to the side.

She turned to see the final gladiator, a khajiit, standing over Majra with a dagger to her throat. He slid the blade across before Eira could react.

Eira watched the life leave Majras eyes, and she felt a rage boil inside of her.

The khajiit ran for her, throwing both daggers.

One fell to the wayside, but one struck true and hit Eira square in the shoulder. But Eira kept on. The khajiit purposely ran past her before she could swing. As he ran past he close lined her.

Eira fell back with a hard thud. The khajiit stood over her, and as he bent down to taunt her Eira thrust her legs up to grab his throat. She twisted and brought him down to the ground with the sheer force of her thighs.

Without thought, Eira climbed on top of him. Instead of using her blade, she took his head in her hands and twisted until his neck broke.

Eyes were drawn to her, she could feel them boring into the back of her head as she snapped the neck.

There was a roar of a crowd all around her as she sat back in the sand, looking upon the litter of dead bodies before her. Poor Majra slumped over in the sand. Eiras heart pounded in her ears, legs wobbling as she stood up.

The crowd suddenly quieted, and Eira looked up to see in a tall balcony sat Aurelius. Next to him was a dunmer woman in red robes. The announced next to the dunmer went to the podium and held his hands out.

“Ladies and gentlemen, mark this day in history!” The announcer cried, “A slave rising to the top, killing all in her wake! A true terror to behold!” He made a motion with his hand.

Eira felt two hands clamp on her shoulders, the dagger sinking further in as she was wrenched from the Arena and back down into the pits. They two guards threw her in a room where the dagger was taken from her shoulder. A mage stood by her and healed the open wound, leaving a small scar.

Once she was healed, the same guards tore her out and brought her further down the hall.

She was taken to a quaint little room that smelled of wine and incense. There Aurelius sat on his silk pillows, fanning himself. Not that it kept the sweat from beading down his face.

Eira saw the dark elf from the balcony sitting next to him; she was his antithesis, sitting upright and no trace of sweat on her brow. She was dressed in desert finery, bright red jewels adorning her headpiece and bracelets. She never took her blood red gaze off of Eira.

The guards kicked Eira’s legs, forcing her onto her knees.

“Cursed breeder,” Her master furrowed his brow, “Couldn’t even get yourself killed proper.”

“Lose a few septims did we?” Eira retorted, feeling confident from her battle in the arena.

“Cheeky little-” He stood up and raised his hand, but the dark elf stopped him.

“Aurelius, you may want to rethink your intentions for the girl.” The dark elf said.

He stayed his hand, “How so?”

“You call her a breeder, yes?”

Aurelius looked at Eira with disgust, “Couldn’t get any proper spawn. Too weak to breathe they were.” He laughed, “She couldn’t even handle the one that did live.”

Eira jumped up at him, bloodlust in her eyes. The guards pulled her back kicking her to keep her down. The dunmer woman held up her arm to stop the guards.

“Perhaps she was branded wrong. She’s a good future in the arena if properly trained.” The dark elf said, taking a sip of fragrant wine.

“She needs to be put down, Moirrin,” Aurelius spat at Eira, “She’s a rabid dog is all. I’ve kept the girl for too long.”

“I will buy her from you then,” Moirrin said bluntly, “Make a better use of her than you have.”

“You can train her all you like, I don’t sell my property so easily.”

“I will pay double,” Moirrin said without hesitation, “And of course you will be compensated at any fight should you like to attend.”

Aurelius thought for a moment, then relented, “You’ll regret taking this one off a leash. She should have died in that arena. With that old khajiiti woman...”

Eira felt a burning pit in her stomach, glaring at Aurelius as Moirrin helped her to her feet.

“Come then, girl,” Moirrin said, “We’ll take our leave. My associates will present the payment in full.” She called to Aurelius as she removed Eiras binds.

“I’ll come back for you.” Eira said to Aurelius, the blood dripping from her face and hair. She kept her eyes on him long enough to see the newfound fear in his eyes as she backed out of the room.

Moirrin pulled her along. Coming back out into the blinding sun, Eira felt the heat of the desert settle into her skin, squinting when the sun hit her eyes.

“You could run,” Moirrin said to her, climbing into her litter, “Or you can clean yourself up, train with my battle masters, and take revenge on the men who took your life from you.”

Eira hesitated, looking out into the dry white desert, longing to return home. She looked back at Moirrin who was patting the space across her. Eira was almost appalled that someone like Moirrin would accept a slave into her litter, but she climbed in nonetheless making sure her sandy feet never touched the delicate silk.

“He never told me your name,” Moirrin said, “He only said you were a slave, or in more choice terms a ‘breeder’, ‘whore’.”

Eira shifted uncomfortably, “Men like him don’t ask for names when all they want is a fuck.”

“A fair statement. And what would his wife call you?”

“‘It’ or ‘Girl’.”

Moirrin frowned slightly, “Elektra was never very kind, slave or no.”

“Khajiit named me Kar’Lichesa.” Eira answered.

  
“‘Queen of Snow.’” Moirrin gave a light chuckle, “Interesting name for a slave.”

Eira gave a slight grin, it was painful to think of Majra-Kai, but she spoke nonetheless, “It was so dark in the quarters, but they said I was so pale when I came to them I glowed like snow. And of course they always said I acted like royalty, even when facing the whip. It was a joke at first, after a few years it was an endearment.”

“I see…” Moirrin nodded, “And in the dark of night when you are left to your thoughts, what do you call yourself?” She leaned back onto her silk pillows to luxuriate herself with a bottle of dry rosy wine, awaiting an answer.

“Eira.”

“A quaint Nord name.” Moirrin scoffed, “But better than ‘It’. When I am done with you, I aim to give you a name that will strike fear into those who wish to challenge you. It is clear to me you have great strength, you must hone that for me.” Her fist clenched in triumph.

“Why should I?” Eira asked defiantly.

“Because I paid for you.” Moirrin pointed a spindly grey finger, “And I always get my money’s worth.”

“They all pay,” Eira said to her, “That means nothing to me.”

“What is it you want?” Moirrin asked.

“Revenge,” Eira said bluntly, “Revenge and to find my family.”

Moirrin cocked her head to the side, giving a sly smile.

“Good.” Moirrin took a sip of her drink, then lifted the glass as if to toast. Her blood red eyes glinted off of the light on her glass, “I’m going to make you famous.”


	7. Chapter 7

" _ Even a man who is pure in heart _

and says his prayers by night

may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms

_ and the autumn moon is bright. _ " 

**-"The Wolf Man" (1941)**

 

14th First Seed 4E186

 

Calla wiped the sweat from her brow. Her whole body shivering from the fever. Kujo sat next to her bed holding her hand. He stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

“Do you remember the fishery in Riften?” He asked.

Calla turned her head just enough to see her brother, “I do.”

“You always told me to keep away from the older boys in the orphanage. But this one night they asked me to steal salmon roe from the hatchery to put in Grelods bath water.” Kujo told her, “You put up such a fight but I did it anyway.”

“If I remember correctly it worked almost too well.”

Kujo laughed, “I got my ass beat.”

Calla gave a weak smile, “That was over twenty years ago, Jojo.”

“I was just thinking how you always tried to get me to do the right thing.” Kujo said, kissing Callas hand, “But you’ve always stuck with me.”

“Of course, you’re my brother.” Calla said, stifling a hard cough.

“I hate seeing you get sick like this.” Kujo sighed, “I’m going to use the money I get for the pelts to get you medicine.”

Calla glared at him, “We need that money for food, clothes...Kujo, think-”

“I think I want you to see another spring, Calla.” Kujo met his sisters olive green eyes, “I want you to find happiness and see those kids grow up.” He pointed to the tunnel that led to the main living area, “We’re supposed to grow old together. You have to be there to give me a slap if I do something stupid.”

“Stop it, Kujo.” Calla said, “Be responsible and use that money for something that will help the others.”

“You’re so stubborn.” Kujo stood up and paced the room, “This is something that will help you. This whole family will be a mess without you, Cal. Don’t you see that?”

“Jojo, I’m tired.” Calla said, thus ending the argument.

Kujo deflated his stance. He went over and gently gave Calla a kiss on her sweaty forehead.

“Rest well, sis.” He said quietly, then stepped lightly as he left the room.

Calla waited a few moments for things to quiet down before steadying herself to stand. Her legs wobbled as she moved to look under the flap to her room.

She saw Kujo talking with Garrick, who only nodded. The two of them were carrying boxes of what Calla presumed to be the candles she and Garrick had made for market. Kujo and Garrick walked out of view, and Calla hoped they would spend the day in Whiterun trying to sell their wares.

Calla slipped out of her room, clutching her shawl around her. She made her way down to Kierans room.

“What is it?” Kieran asked, his voice slightly cracking.

Calla lifted up the cloth door to see Kieran bracing himself over his table. His knuckles were white and he seemed to be in intense pain.

“Kieran,” Calla started, “Is the full moon tonight?”

Kieran was silent for a moment. He eyed her carefully and let out a cautious, “Yes.”

Calla hesitated, stifling another coughing fit.

“I know what Kujo would say. And I know you care about his opinion. But I’m making this decision for myself,” She sat on Kierans bed, feeling her legs starting to give out, “I want you to turn me.”

Kierans head shot up, “What?”

“Don’t pretend no one knows what you and the others are,” Calla said, “Kieran, I’m afraid.”

Kieran walked over to her and got to his knees. He took her clammy hands into his.

“This could kill you, darling.” Kieran said bluntly, “Kujo would never be the same.”

“If I don’t do this, I know that my sicknesses will take me sooner. I can feel it.” Calla said, “We have to try.”

Kieran gauged her body language. His shoulders fell and he shook his head.

“I can’t lose the both of you.” He told her, “I’ll gather the others. We’ll meet in the grove as soon as the moons are out.” And he thought that maybe if Calla turned, Kujo would join her.

Calla squeezed Kierans hands, “Thank you.”

Kieran led her back to her room. He leaned against the doorway, his head pounding. An uneasy feeling crept into his stomach, and he turned away to make good on his promise.

 

Hannah helped Calla wobble out to a small grove by the strays cave. Barely had the sky begun to darken and the moons showed their faces, but Calla was ready to begin.

Kieran, Grigori, Skeever, Tarak, and Erida stood in a semi-circle. Kieran removed his clothes and the rest followed. Calla felt her stomach jump and Hannah squeezed her arm.

“I can’t be here, Calla.” Hannah said, “Good luck.”

“Keep the children away.” Calla said, receiving a nod from Hannah.

Calla came to the center of the grove. A blush came to her face, but she did the same as the others and removed her clothes. Kieran stepped forward and held her, her body fiery from fever.

“Calla, do you accept Hircines gift?” Kieran asked her.

“Yes.” Calla said without hesitation.

She looked into Kierans golden eyes, keeping her gaze locked onto them as she felt him change. Claws began to dig into her back, Kieran himself grew in height and lifted Calla off the ground. She felt his hot breath as a muzzle grew in place of his mouth. But his eyes stayed the same.

Calla tilted her head back to look up at the moons. She closed her eyes as she felt Kieran bring his teeth around her shoulder.

A sharp pain ran through her body as Kieran clamped down harder. He could feel Callas blood fill his mouth. His head swam and he bit harder, reveling in the ecstacy.

“Kieran.” Skeever piped up.

Kieran let go and turned his head to his friend, seeing that everyone else had shifted into wolves as he bit Calla. He looked back to the woman in his arms. He shook her once, finding that she wasn’t moving. A terror set in.

Kieran held Calla out to Skeever.

“It’s not working.” He panicked, “Give it a try.”

Skeever didn't hesitate, biting into Callas leg. When he pulled away Calla still didn’t move.

Kieran dropped her to the ground and yelled for the others to bite her. The wolves dove in, littering Callas body in harsh bite marks. Kieran pushed them away when he felt they were taking too long. He stood over Callas bleeding body, again trying to shake her to life to no avail.

“Fuck.” He placed her back on the ground and bent over to take one last bite into her upper arm.

Kieran stopped when he heard someone screaming Callas name. He looked up and saw Kujo. Kieran quickly used all his stamina to change back into his human form. He raced to Kujo.

“Kujo, please, it’s no-”

Kujo reeled his arm back and socked Kieran in the face. Kieran fell back into the dirt. Kujo lifted him off the ground and kicked him in the stomach, throwing Kieran back towards Callas body.

“Kujo, I don’t want to hurt you.” Kieran held his hands up.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Kujo screamed back, racing to throttle Kieran.

Skeever jumped in and held Kujo back, but Kujo grabbed Skeever by the muzzle and threw him deep into the dirt. Kujo turned to Kieran, who shifted back into a wolf and jumped at Kujo.

Kieran pinned Kujo to the ground, his eyes begging for Kujo to stop. But Kujo used his legs to kick upwards, tossing Kieran aside.

The two of them tumbled, the other wolves trying to pry them apart. Tarak held him close, biting Kujos ear when Kujo tried to headbut him. Kujo broke Taraks hold around him and raced at Kieran once again. Kujo grabbed for Kierans head, intending to break his neck. But Kieran rushed Kujo into the trunk of a large tree.

Kieran swatted at Kujo, his claws digging into Kujos right eye. The eye didn’t come out, but gushes of blood poured from the wound. Kujo fell to his knees and looked up at Kieran with utter hatred and rage.

Before Kujo could take another step, Kieran lunged at him, sinking his teeth into Kujo’s shoulder. Kujo let out a pained screech. Kieran reeled back, watching Kujo convulse with the lycanthropic venom.

Kieran panicked and looked to the others.

“Shift back and clean out the caves.”

“What?” Erida asked, “What about Kujo?”

“Do as I say!” Kieran roared, running back towards their home.

Kujo watched with blurred vision as the wolves faded away. He gathered all of his strength and crawled over to his sisters still body.

He fell beside her, blood pouring from his wounds. A heat settled into his body and he felt as if his skin were set on fire.

Kujo reached his hand out to grab Callas cold one. His eyes fluttered, and the last thing he saw were his sisters eyes clouded over.

 

Kujo awoke in a different part of the forest. He rolled to his side and saw large gashes in the trees around him. He sat up and immediately regretted it, a horrible headache pounding his brain.

He managed to get to his feet, discovering he clothes were torn and his body mostly exposed to the elements. Kujo tried to take a step forward, noticing each step he took was miscalculated and he slipped.

His hand flung up to his right eye, the outline of his hand blurred when he tried to focus on it. He then moved his hand to scratch his shoulder, finding dried crusted under his fingernails.

“Fuck.” His hand fell down to his side.

Slowly, Kujo made his way through the forest, finding himself back in Whiterun after a few hours.

Kujo shuffled himself back to the forest clearing, a rage flowing through his blood when he still found Callas body lying among the trees.

Using his hands, Kujo dug under a nearby willow. He spent hours it seemed carefully pushing away the dirt. When he finally dug a hole large enough he went over to his sister and picked up her body.

He looked down at her face, tears rushing down his cheeks and he held her close to him one last time. He laid Calla gently into the ground, kissing her forehead and weeping. Kujo sobbed as he slowly pushed the dirt over his twin.

When her body was covered, Kujo laid beside the grave and wept uncontrollably. He apologized and screamed Callas name at the top of his lungs. He hated himself and Kieran, but especially Kieran.

Kujo spent hours by his sisters grave before pulling himself up off the ground.

With newfound strength, Kujo brought himself to the entrance of the strays cave. He screamed Kierans name, but got no answer.

Kujo walked into the main part of the cave, finding all of the supplies gone. Kujo clenched his fist, swearing violently when he came upon each and every empty room. He found himself in Kierans empty room. A piece of parchment was stabbing into the wall. Kujo pulled it down and read:

‘ _Kujo,_

_If you survive the bite I want you to know I’ll be waiting for you. I’m afraid I can’t tell you where we’ll go, as I know what might be running through your mind right now. But when you calm your temper I do desperately want you to find us. I want to show you the strength that comes with our gift. I could never apologize enough for Calla, but you should know I loved her and I still love you. Please, Kujo. Find me and I will show you a world unknown to you._

_With love and undying passion,_

_Kieran_ ’

Kujo began to crumple the note in his hand, rage filling his body once more. He nearly tore it but was distracted by a sound that came from behind him. He threw the note to the ground.

Kujo went back out into the main part of the cave, hearing a rustling sound coming from the storeroom. He opened the flap and found two children sifting through empty boxes. The two of them froze when they saw Kujo.

“Usha? Bael?” Kujo looked at the two children, one a younger Redguard girl and an older Breton boy.

Usha was holding a small bundle, a young toddler wrapped in a torn quilt.

“Don’t kill us!” Bael threw himself in front of Usha and the baby, Kujo remembered the baby as a Bosmer boy.

Kujo soothed his voice and covered his eye as to not frighten them, “What happened?”

Bael hesitated, but the rumble in his stomach bade him speak, “Kieran and the others came tearing through. Hannah grabbed up most of the little ones and they went running. Usha and I were in Calla’s room and hid when we heard the commotion. When we both came out everyone was gone. I looked outside and saw a pack of werewolves, so I ran back in and hid here with Usha and Arathorn.”

Kujo looked at the dirt streaked tears on both of their faces and sighed.

“I’m sorry they ran. But we can’t stay here.” He told them, “There’s nothing left for us.”

“Are you going to help us?” Usha piped up, soothing the child in her arms.

Kujo nodded, thinking it’s what Calla would have done.

“Find anything you can, we’ll leave soon after.” He told the children.

Kujo went into his quarters and changed his clothes. He gathered all he could feasibly carry and met the children at the entrance of the cave.

“I just have to do one last thing.” Kujo told Bael.

“Is it Calla?” Bael asked. Seeing Kujos face he quickly added, “I heard Hannah screaming at Kieran.”

Kujo sighed, “We’re going to say goodbye.

He led the children to Callas grave, shocked to see Garrick standing over it and placing flowers. Kujo caught his eye and Garrick backed away.

The two of them stood next to each other in silence.

“She would’ve liked the flowers.” Kujo told Garrick, who nodded.

Then Kujo looked up at Garrick, “I’m going to try and find him.”

Garrick looked at Kujo, a tear falling down his cheek.

“For Calla.” Garrick whispered.

Kujo nodded, embracing Garrick with one arm.

“For Calla.”


	8. Chapter 8

_“When the sun rises over the horizon,_

_the butterfly emerges to dance in its brilliant light._

_It flickers its colorful wings with euphoria,_

_To celebrate all the beauty found_

_in the majestic garden of life._

_When the moon arrives in the darkness,_

_The moth appears at the disappearance of sunlight._

_It flickers its pale wings as it shakes from its deep slumber,_

_To go search for food_

_To carry it through the night._

_The moth prefers the moon and detests the sun, while the butterfly loves the sun and hides from the moon._

_Every living creature responds to light. But depending on the amount of light you have inside, determines which lamp in the sky your heart will swoon._ ”

― **Suzy Kassem, “The Moth and the Butterfly”**

 

13th Sun’s Dusk 4E188

 

Orianne knocked on the table twice. Genevieve looked up from her cards and peered at the hand on the table. A sly smile crossed her face.

“An excellent hand, meme.” Genevieve said, showing her own cards, “But I’m afraid my hand proves to be more substantial.”

Orianne leaned back in her garden chair and smiled, “You’ve learned well, mon ami. Alas,” She revealed a card hidden under her original hand, “You still need to expect the unexpected.”

Genevieve furrowed her brow, then gracefully accepted defeat with a nod of her head.

“A clever play.” She commended her grandmother.

“I will say you’ve learned much these last six years, little lark.” Orianne said, “Yet you still haven’t kept your eyes on what is truly important.”

“The hands?”

Orianne gave a hmph, “The hands do, but the eyes plot. If you are to live as a noblewoman then you must learn whatever the mouth says is bullshit. By the time one takes action it’s too late. Always look for the eyes, the facial tics and hints to deception. A slight curl to the lips could be sinister.” Orianne explained, “The face is an ornate sheet of music, and only a skilled musician will be able to read it.”

Genevieve listened to her grandmother teach her about her days in Breton court. Orianne was a woman of status and travelled across Tamriel to the Imperial Palace, Sentinel, Solitude, and even far south to Elden Root.

“Oh and the men are far too. Women can be hard to read, we know the workings of court. But men, especially ones attracted to women, seat all emotion into their face. One flick of the tongue or bat of the eyes and they are clay in your hands.” Orianne said, then heaved a great sigh, “The only man I could never read was your mothers father.”

“Grandpa Motierre?”

Orianne nodded, “Of course it helped he was well versed in the language of both sexes. He could sniff out a plot within a second of meeting someone.” She snapped her fingers, “The two of us were nigh unstoppable. Then of course the sea took him.” She shook her head, “He ruined all other men for me, so I took to women.”

Genevieve raised her brow, but listened intently.

“One rule though,” Orianne held up her finger, “As a born woman, never truly fall in love with a fellow lady of the court. You’ll have a dagger in your back quicker than you can kiss her lips. I should know I was the one holding the blade.” She sat back in her chair and gazed out into the garden, “But-You are young, Genevieve, and you still have much to learn.”

“I want to learn now.” Genevieve said, her eyes glistening with wonder.

Orianne looked at her granddaughter, “Your father wishes you to continue your magic lessons, mon ami.”

Genevieve slumped in her chair, “They’re just going to make me recite my transmutation skills again.”

“You can tell your father your great sufferings,” Orianne laughed, “Here he is now.”

Orianne locked her eyes on Aldric as he walked through the gardens, a crisp autumn breeze washed over from the sea and brought a chill to the place.

Aldric smiled when he saw his daughter and bowed to his mother-in-law.

“Father, don’t make me attend my alteration lessons today,” Genevieve begged, “They’ve become so droll.”

“Already bored, mon petit?” Aldric joined them at the table, “I thought you enjoyed learning paralysis.”

“But for an entire month?” Genevieves shoulders fell, “I want to start destruction.”

“You’re too like your mother,” Orianne laughed, “No time to learn the frills of magic. Your daughter is much more interested in matters of court, Aldric.”

“Is that so?” Aldric took out his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco, “What say when your mother returns from Solitude in a few days. To say...Cyrodiil?”

Genevieves expression lightened and she clapped her hands together, “You mean it, father?”

“I don't see why not. I have business with Adrus Decidus in the Imperial City in the next couple months.” Aldric took a smoke from his pipe, “Your mother will have time to rest here and we’ll make our way to Cyrodiil afterwards. We’d be obliged if you joined us, Orianne.”

Orianne bowed her head, “The invitation is appreciated, Aldric. I think the warmer weather will do my bones some good.” Then she pried, “Decidus you say?”

Aldric gave a slow nod, “Adrus and I have been friends for some time. He’s been helping ease the transition of bringing our salt trade to the city, from exclusively our business.”

“How delightful,” Orianne commented, “As we all know, Breton sea salt is better than the salt that comes from the Elsweyr mines.”

“Of course.” Aldric gave a slight smile. He looked to his daughter, “Will you be taking your ride today, Veve?”

Genevieve perked up, “Can I go into town?”

“With an escort.” Aldric told her.

“I’ll take Bob-Pierre.”

Aldric laughed, “Your puffin isn’t a proper escort for a noble lady.” Then he added, “The Thalmor made their landing last night, I want no daughter of mine going into the city alone.”

“Meme.” Genevieve eyed her grandmother.

“Your father is right.” Orianne relented, “Take your Governess.”

Genevieve sighed, “But she’s so droll.”

“As are most Altmer.” Orianne rolled her eyes.

Aldric chuckled at her remark, but said to his daughter, “Do this for me, Veve.”

“Yes, father.” Genevieve relented, hurredly rushing back into the manor.

Orianne chuckled, “She’s just like Shoshana.”

Aldric agreed, “Perhaps too much.”

Picking up her cards, Orianne wiggled her brows at Aldric and waved the cards in her hand. Aldric shrugged and took the cards to shuffle.

“You always cheat during the shuffle.”

“Have I become that predictable?” Orianne feigned offence.

Aldric smiled, “Soon I won’t be able to play cards with you or my daughter.” He shuffled the cards once more.

“She’s learning quickly.” Orianne pointed out, “And in just a few short years she’ll be a woman in the eyes of the court.”

“Don’t remind me,” Aldric sighed, “You know I received a letter from the Baujelaines in Dunlain requesting that Veve meet with their youngest son? He’s sixteen for Magnus’ sake.”

“Vultures the lot of them.” Orianne commented, looking at her dealt hand, “I remember when Shoshana turned thirteen, Lord Motierre and I were simply overwhelmed. Poems of how her brown eyes wooed them the first moment they saw her. Idiots, her eyes are blue.”

Aldrics face went pale, “Do you think-?”

“With Genevieve? Of course,” Orianne told him, “She’s beautiful. Your eyes don’t have to be blue to have men smitten with you.”

“She’s so young.” Aldric turned to see his daughter ride away over the hill, a haggard Altmer woman trailing behind her.

Orianne gave Aldric a pitiful smirk, resting her hand over his.

“She’s not sixteen yet.”

Aldric loosened the collar around his neck, “I don’t think I’d care to live if I was to announce her to court any day sooner.”

“Shoshana was thirteen when we introduced her.” Orianne pointed out, "Genevieve is already fourteen."

“Yes, but she was eighteen when I asked for her hand. Shoshana was grown into a confident woman. And she still is.” Aldric felt heartsick, missing his wife. He then added, “Veve has so much life to her, I won’t have some poncy little shit come into her life and snuff that out.”

Orianne gave a slow nod of approval, “You’re a good man, Aldric.” Then she knocked on the table twice.

* * *

 

Genevieve fawned over a grand-looking necklace in a shop window. She pointed to it.

“Eilonwy, isn’t it beautiful?”

The young Altmer governess bent down to look at the diamond necklace.

“I should say yes,” Eilonwy commented, “But a bit too spectacular for such a young girl.”

“I’m nearly thirteen.” Genevieve pointed out, her eyes glued to the magnificent diamonds.

“A teenager then.” Eilonwy straightened her stance.

Genevieve huffed, then pulled herself away, still admiring the jewels. Her face grew somber.

"Did you know there are over one hundred and sixty-thousand different species of moths, but only seventeen thousand and five-hundred butterfly species?" She asked her tutor.

"I'm afraid I did not." Eilonwy answered.

Genevieve sighed, "Moths don't ask for wings with colors and frills. But the butterfly screams 'Look at me, look at me, how beautiful I fly.'" She cocked her head to the side, "It's no small wonder so many butterflies die and how so many moths continue to flourish..." She shook her head out of her own head and looked thoughtfully at the necklace once more.

“It would look pretty on you.”

Eilonwys golden cheeks flushed, “I could never-” She sputtered.

“Will you ever let me dress you, Loni?” Genevieve smiled sweetly.

The Governess’ golden eyes widened and she shook her head.

“Absolutely not.”

Eilonwy led Genevieve away from the store.

Genevieve sighed, “But you’re so tall. I never get to dress anyone so tall. I already know what jewels would look beautiful in your lovely white hair.” The little girl swooned, “I wish you would let it down more.”

The Governess eyed her charge, “We’ve been through this, Genevieve.”

“My duties are to your studies and not to fulfill your whimsies.” Genevieve said along with her tutor, “I know, I know.”

“And just because we’re outside of your parents home doesn’t mean you are to abandon todays lesson.” Eilonwy said, ushering Genevieve to sit on a bench amongst a row of maples, “Now, what are the regions of High Rock? Including the islands.”

Genevieve sighed and kicked a rock, “Balfiera, Bangkorai, Betony, Glenumbra, Rivenspire, Stormhaven, and Wrothgar.”

“And its major cities?”

“Camlorn, Daggerfall, Evermor, Farrun, Jehanna, Northpoint, Sharnhelm, and Wayrest.”

Eilonwy gave Genevieve a sly smile, “Hammerfell.”

Genevieve let out a huff, but continued, “Th Alik'r Desert, southern Bangkorai, Craglorn, Khefrem, and Sunforge. But in the Abecean Sea there’s The Chain, Stros M'Kai, and sometimes Stirk.”

“Why is that?”

“Stirk was considered neutral territory after the Alliance War of the second era.” Genevieve said.

“Cities?”

“Dragonstar, Elinhir, Gilane, Hegathe, Rihad, Sentinel, Skaven, Taneth, and on Stros M’Kai there’s Bthzark, Port Hunding and Saintsport.” Genevieve looked up at her Governess defiantly.

“Excellent, now Cyrodiil.”

The little girl rolled her eyes but recited her lessons nonetheless, “Regions: Blackwood, the Colovian Highlands, the Gold Coast, the Great Forest, the Jerall Mountains, the Nibenay Basin divided into two being the Heartlands and the Nibenay Valley, the Valus Mountains and the West Weald. Cities: Anvil, Bravil, Bruma, Cheydinhal, Chorrol, the Imperial City, Kvatch, Leyawiin, and Skingrad.” She looked up at her Governess, “Please don't make me do more.”

“You’ll just have to do them later.” Eilonwy said.

“Can I leave off at Cyrodiil?” The girl begged.

The Governess thought for a moment and relented, “Very well. We shall finish geography later. You’ll have to recite Skyrim twice however.”

“Why?” Genevieve whined.

“Because you forgot a region yesterday.” Eilonwy explained, “If you are ever to visit these places as a diplomat of nobility you must know these things.”

“Hjaalmarch is a dumb name anyway.” Genevieve grumbled.

“Wait until we get into Dwemer history.” Eilonwy chuckled to herself.

“What use to I have to learn names like Mzbufaluftaloo.” Genevieve lamented, making her tutor laugh.

“History is important,” Eilonwy said, “All history.”

Genevieve grumbled to herself, swinging her legs up and down. She looked to her tutor.

“I’m hungry.”

“I told you to eat before we left.”

“I wasn’t hungry then, I’m hungry now.”

Eilonwy sighed, “Then I suppose we’ll make our way back to the manor.” She stood up, “Your cook promised a very hearty autumn meal upon our return.”

“He’s just going to give us pies with squash.” Genevieve wrinkled her nose.

“Then you can have the venison.” Eilonwy gently took the girls hand.

They walked through the city towards a grand set of stables. Eilonwy held back when she saw Thalmor soldiers stabling their horses. She set her grey wool hat firmly on her head, pulling the attached grey scarf tightly.

“Keep hold of my hand, Genevieve.” She said quietly, “And whatever you do please don’t speak with them.”

“Why?” Genevieve whispered, getting shushed by her tutor.

Eilonwy held her head up and ushered Genevieve over to her black mare. She waited for Genevieve to be fully in the saddle before turned to mount her own bay mare. Eilonwy kept her gaze averted from the three Thalmor soldiers, but knew they were watching.

She leaned over to Genevieve, “Head high.” She whispered.

Genevieve sat up in her saddle, keeping her eyes locked on the back of her horses head. She followed Eilonwys lead and slowly walked their horses to the open archway of the stables. The subtle clink of elven armor beginning to follow them.

Eilonwy was forced to stop her horse when two of the soldiers met them at the entrance.

“How are you today, my Lady?” One of the soldiers asked with a smile, looking at Eilonwy all the while ignoring Genevieve.

“Just fine thank you, sir.” Eilonwy answered, her hands tight around the reins, “If you’ll excuse me-”

The soldier stopped the horse once more.

“Are you in a particular rush to be somewhere, my Lady?” He cocked his head to the side.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Eilonwy said, glaring between the two soldiers, “My Lady Motierre-Mariquette is due home.”

“I see,” The first soldier said, “Have you any papers?”

“Papers?” Eilonwy asked.

“Yes,” The second soldier said, “All residents of Daggerfall must provide papers as to verify their being citizens.”

Eilonwy let out an exasperated gasp, “Well I never-”

The third soldier came around the back of the horses, petting the muzzle to Genevieves horse nonchalantly. A chill ran up Genevieves spine.

“If you don’t have papers, there’s no need to fret, my Lady.” The first soldier said, “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement?”

“An arrangement?” Eilonwys mouth went dry.

“Of course,” The second soldier said, “The Aldmeri Dominion is nothing but gracious to their people.”

“The girl can go back home, safe to her family and warm bed.” The first soldier said, “If you stay with us for a little while.”

“I beg your pardon, sir-” Eilonwy sputtered.

The first soldier set his hand on Eilonwys boot, moving his way slowly under her woolen skirt. Eilonwys body straightened even more, she glared down at him.

“I shall have you know, in case your head is filled with salt water, that my brother is Ondolemar, commander to the Justicars just over the Skyrim border. And he happens to be in very good standing with First Emissary Elenwen. Not to mention my uncle happens to be Saurenil Taurelion the Diplomatic Ambassador to High Rock.” Eilonwy kept her voice level, “If you do not remove your hand from my leg in the next second I will not only have you all stripped from the Dominion, but will personally see to it that you are ripped apart and thrown into the frigid sea. You will be nothing but food for the fishes, no memorial will be made for you, and you will die not as Altmer but as three putrid little beings with no names and no status.”

Eilonwys stare did not falter and she did not blink. The soldiers slowly back away. Eilonwy faced forward and nudged her horse forward, Genevieve quickly followed.

They remained at a rigid pace until they reached the outside of town. Eilonwy relaxed her shoulders, the energy drained from her body in one slow exhale.

“Are you alright?” She looked to Genevieve, whose eyes were glazed over.

Genevieve nodded, “I’m never skipping a lesson with you again.”

Eilonwy smiled, then faced back towards the road, “Cursed little boys who think they can get whatever they want. I’ve never heard of something so ridiculous as showing pedigree papers.” She mumbled.

“I wasn’t going to leave you.” Genevieve piped up.

Eilonwy shot her a look, “You most certainly would have. You are too young for such things. As it were I will be speaking to your father to ensure that we bring along an extra escort the next time you wish to visit the city.”

Genevieve didn’t object. Then she asked:

“Did you really mean all those things?”

Eilonwy gave a light-hearted laugh.

“My brother is a clothier in Lillandril and my uncle is a fisherman.” She looked to Genevieve, “Never falter with a lie.”

“Wow…” Genevieve whispered to herself.

The two rode in silence until they reached the manor. A gentle chilling rain began to fall at a light pace.

As they approached the house, Genevieve thought it strange that the carriage belonging to her fathers solicitor was stationed haphazardly in the front.

“Father?” Genevieves voice slightly cracked, feeling a deep pit form in her stomach.

“I’ll take the horses, my Lady.” Eilonwy said, allowing Genevieve to jump down from her mare and run to the house.

She threw the front doors open, seeing that all was dark. She heard thunder rumbling outside, taking cautious steps down the stairs and to her fathers den.

“Father?” She called out, receiving no answer.

The den was cold and unlit. In a quick flash of lightning she saw three figures out in the garden. Genevieve rushed outside, rain soaking her gingery curls. She saw her father on his knees, face in his hands as his body was wracked with sobs. The solicitor standing with his hat twitching in his fingers.

Orianne saw Genevieve first, rushing over and pulling her away from her own father.

“Not now, my lark,” Orianne said, her face streaked with tears, “You must go inside.”

“What’s happened?” Genevieve asked, crying from the shock of seeing her father so distraught.

Aldric screamed into the rain, crying his wifes name over and over. Genevieve felt a cold stab in her chest. She broke free from her grandmother and tried to run and embrace her father. Aldric looked at his daughter and all he saw was Shoshana. He recoiled from her touch.

“Get away!” He yelled.

Genevieve pulled her hands away, frightened at her fathers words. Orianne ran over to her and pulled her granddaughter away from Aldric, who fell back into his despair.

Genevieve looked up at her grandmother. Orianne hung her head in shame, quickly ushering Genevieve out of the rain.

The steward came down the steps into the den, and Orianne requested warm drinks and a fire. She sat Genevieve down and placed a blanket across her shoulders. She spoke with a heavy heart.

“Your mother was crossing the border through the Reach when she was attacked by the Reachmen,” Orianne wiped away her tears with one delicate finger, “Her carriage-oh, mon ami…” She hung her head, “My sparrow…”

Genevieve stared into the growing fire, feeling her head swoon. Between each roll of thunder she could hear her father fruitlessly calling out to her mother.

“Your father is in pain, Genevieve,” Orianne told her, “It would be best to leave him be for a time.”

She held her granddaughter in her arms, letting her weep. The very sound of Genevieves suffering brought Orianne great pain, as if she lost Shoshana for a second time.

 

Genevieve sat by her window that dark rainy night, listening to her father lament his sorrow into the storm. Rain poured into her room, but Genevieve could not feel its biting touch.

She laid her head against the stone frame, her wet hair curling around her face to absorb fresh tears.

The waves out at sea lashed against the cliffs, and for the first time Genevieves wish to be amongst the rocks so that she may no longer feel such pain.

She closed her solemn amber eyes and let the rain wash over her, and she no longer felt young.


	9. Chapter 9

_“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”_

- **Henry David Thoreau**

6th Midyear 4E189

 

Kujo wiped the sweat from his brow. He shook the tense muscles in his shoulders then reeled his woodaxe back to chop another piece of firewood.

The log broke clean in two and fell to the side. Kujo threw the two pieces into the pile he had neatly stacked into a small cart. The donkey at the front of the cart let out a startled bray.

“Hush, Penelope, it’s just me.” Kujo had moved to pat the donkeys rump.

He scratched behind her long fuzzy ears and took a moment to breathe in the fresh air of a Skyrim summer. Rich green trees surrounding him swayed in a gentle breeze that kicked up pollen and the seeds of dandelions.

Kujo turned back to chop his last piece when he saw Bael descending a low sloping hill and moving towards him. Judging from the boys expression Kujo could see immense pride. Kujo stuck his axe into the chopping block and greet Bael with a smile.

“I did it!” Bael shouted, holding up a dead rabbit.

With a heart clap Kujo grinned ear to ear, “Your first hunt went well I see!”

“I did just what you said, lay low and breathe as I took the shot.” Bael smiled, “Can I skin it?”

“Wait until we reach the house. We’ll cook it for supper,” Kujo examined the large hare, “My what a fine kill, Bael.”

Bael took Kujos pride to heart, his chest swelled and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

Kujo looked at the boy he had adopted as a young brother and ruffled his sandy hair.

“You’re growing into a fine man, Bael,” Kujo told him, “Run that up to Usha and I’ll be along shortly.”

Bael hesitated, but the courage he had found brought him to speak for himself.

“Can I drive the cart?”

Kujo thought for a moment as he prepped to cut his last log. In one strong swing he cut the wood in two. As he picked up the firewood he eyed Bael and shifted his stance.

“You want to drive the cart?”

Bael nodded, “I know last time didn’t work so well but-”

Kujos grin stopped Bael mid-sentence. The boy was disheartened until Kujo motioned for him to follow. Bael set the rabbit in his hunting pouch and raced after Kujo.

The two of them sat in the driving seat, Kujo held the reins and guided Penelope out of the grove of trees and onto the dirt path that led home. He stopped the donkey and handed the reins over to Bael.

“Remember to keep a firm grip,” Kujo said, “Don’t think about last time. Keep your focus on Penelope. She’s stubborn but you can gauge where she’s about to go when you see an ear twitch.”

“Okay…” Bael said, his hands tightening around the leather reins.

The boy felt butterflies in his stomach but kept a level head. Kujo smiled when Bael guided Penelope to the left when she started to go right.

“Good.” Kujo said, “Very good.”

They rode just up the small hill along a path of stark white birch trees with emerald leaves. The trees began to open up a bit more and Kujo could see smoke billowing from a small cabin on the crest of the hill.

The house itself was small but homely. Kujo had built the first level when he had initially decided to make the Rift his new home. The secondary level came a year later when Kujo took it upon himself to adopt another child.

Kujo built the home intending to fill it with children and make it a home for orphans. He craved for the family that the strays had given him, but Kujo wanted this to be built on his own terms.

He glanced over at Bael who was keeping a determined gaze on the road ahead.

“How do you feel about circling to the back of the house?” Kujo asked Bael.

“I can do it.” Bael said confidently, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he made a wide enough circle to allow the cart room to move without hitting anything.

Kujo felt his stomach lurch when Bael almost crashed into the chicken coop, but let out a sigh of relief when the cart just narrowly missed it.

Bael stopped the cart just outside of a small storage shed.

Kujo pat his own knees and looked at Bael with beams of pride.

“You’ve learned quickly, I couldn’t be any happier.”

“Thanks, Kujo.” Bael smiled, hopping down so he could help stack the wood into the shed.

Kujo had just begun to throw wood onto his shoulder when he felt both of his feet become heavy. He looked down and saw a Bosmer boy of four and young Nord girl of five straddled to his legs. Kujo smiled down at them.

“Arathorn, Morwen,” Kujo raised his brow, “Good evening to you as well.”

“Go, go!” Arathorn laughed happily, his bright orange eyes glistening with glee.

Kujo strode forward with both children on his long legs. They weighed nothing to him but the motions of moving up and down sent the two children into hysterical fits of laughter.

Morwen and Arathorn stuck to Kujo until he was finished with unloading the cart. Kujo looked to Bael.

“Want to take Penelope into the barn?”

Baels deep brown eyes beamed, “Yes!” He jumped onto the cart and slowly led it away.

Morwen and Arathorn fell over onto the ground still giggling and kicking their little legs up. Kujo scooped them into his arms and brought them into the cabin.

The home itself was cozy and warm, the open windows bringing a fresh Rift breeze. Usha, just gracing her early teen years, was standing by a table with a toddler in her arm and kneaded dough with the other.

Kujo set the two children in his arms down and gave his adopted sister a hug. He placed a gentle kiss on the forehead of the Nibanese boy she held.

“How was little Larisus today?” He asked Usha, taking the boy from her arms and littering kisses all over his cheeks to make him laugh.

Usha settled her dough into a bowl and covered it with a cloth to prove. Flour covered her umber-colored face, but she smiled when Morwen hugged her side.

“He’s finally just started talking.” She told Kujo, “I was beginning to worry…”

Kujo looked at Larisus, “Have you really?” Then he turned back to Usha, “Some kids need time after witnessing the tragedy he had. I had to scoop him up from the wagon before the guards sent him to Honorhall…”

“Arathorn seems to enjoy having another boy here.” Usha commented, brushing out Morwens long hair.

“Have the eggs been collected yet?” Kujo asked, sitting down with Larisus hugging him close.

Usha shook her head, “I had enough of a time with Arathorn climbing everything and Bael was out hunting.”

“That’s alright,” Kujo assured her, “You can’t do everything at once. Would you like me to go?”

Usha looked back at her dough then pushed out her chair, “No, I’ve been meaning to show Arathorn and Morwen how to take the eggs. If you’ll watch Larisus?”

“Of course.” Kujo said happily.

Usha held out her hands and took both Morwen and Arathorn with her.

Kujo held Larisus as he walked around the cabin. He checked the sturdiness of the steps that led up into the childrens rooms. Each time he asked Larisus if they were fit to walk on, receiving a sure ‘Yes’ from the boy each time.

The two of them counted each blanket on each bed to make sure each child had enough. Kujo told Larisus it was summer, but Skyrim would be growing cold soon and the blankets were a necessity.

Going back downstairs Kujo saw Bael eagerly beginning to skin his kill. Kujo handed Larisus a block of suet on a string to teethe on so he could point out skinning tips to Bael.

Usha came back in with Morwen and Arathorn in tow. Arathorn was crying that Usha didn’t let him hold the basket and Morwen simply sighed and went over to hold onto Kujos pant leg.

Arathorn began to sniffle violently, holding his arms out so that Kujo could pick him up and hold him. Kujo gave him a hard look and met the boy at eye level.

“Now you know Usha isn’t trying to be mean with you,” Kujo said calmly, “You will not be able to help her with the chickens if you get upset with her.”

Arathorn nodded, his lips sucking in and out as he tried to breathe.

“Calm your body,” Kujo rubbed the boys back, “We can always try again another day.”

“O-ok-okay.” Arathorn sniffled out, throwing his arms around Kujos neck.

Kujo pat Arathrons back until the boy stopped crying. Then he looked Arathorn with his one good eye.

“Now you can go ask Usha if she will let you carry the basket tomorrow.”

Arathorn shyly walked over to Usha, who had her hand on her hip.

“Can I carry the basket tomorrow?” Arathorn pouted.

Kujo cleared his throat and raised his brow.

“Please?” Arathorn finished.

Usha smiled and kissed his cheek, “Yes you can.”

“Thank you!” Arathorn hugged Ushas leg and ran off to play with his wooden toys.

Kujo set Larisus down and urged for him and Morwen to play with Arathorn. He made his way to the stove and threw in a couple of logs to start a fire for supper.

Bael pushed Usha and Kujo out of the kitchen as he was determined to cook dinner all by himself. Kujo went out onto the porch to smoke his pipe. He watched the moons start to peek through the fluffy summer clouds, feeling a nightly chill settle in around the forest.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the woods. Kujo thought to himself this life was just as good as he figured it was going to be. It had taken him nearly three years to build the home and make it what it is now. He admitted it was still imperfect in many of its ways, but he heard the children laughing inside and knew it had been worth the labor.

Instinctively his hand flung up to his eye patch, scratching at the dark leather. On his first trip into Riften Kujo was adamant to find the materials to make one.

The eye itself wasn’t completely gone, but massive claw marks were raked over the eyelid and just under the socket. It might as well be completely useless to him.

The patch served as a way to hide the ugly marks inflicted upon him. The first time Morwen saw it two years ago she began to cry. Kujo never wanted that to happen again.

Thinking about his eye brought Kujos mind to the thought of Kieran. He clenched the arm of his rocking chair.

For half a year Kujo tried to find where they went. As a wolf Kujo had caught the scent, but quickly lost it once the trail led him to a dead end down near Falkreath.

The day Kujo decided to give up the chase was the day he took it upon himself to channel his energy into better things like raising these kids and keeping his bestial nature at bay.

Kujo scoffed, knowing Kieran would be hurt if he knew Kujo just decided to give up, deeming him unworthy of Kujos time.

A dark thought crossed into Kujos mind. Kujo knew that if Kieran ever decided to show his face then Kujo would have to kill him.

Puffing out a long trail of smoke, Kujo let himself fall into his own thoughts.

It wasn’t until Bael called for supper that Kujo brought himself out of his stupor.

Kujo shuffled inside only to have the three youngest weaving around his feet as they gave each other chase. Kujo tried to not let the mood he put himself in affect their cheerfulness.

The small patchwork family sat around the table and passed around their supper. Bael grinned each time someone took a bite out of the meal he painstakingly prepared.

“Kujo,” Bael piped up, “Can you take me hunting again tomorrow?”

Kujo finished his bite before he spoke, “Tomorrow is Ushas day to hunt.”

Bael seemed deflated, “Fredas then?”

Kujo contemplated this and then nodded, “Fredas is fine. As long as your chores are finished before I leave in the morning.”

Bael celebrated the little victory to himself, taking a joyful bite out of his roasted potatoes.

Mashing up the potatoes for Larisus, Kujo directed his statement to the two oldest.

“I’ll need to make a trip to Riften next week,” He told them, “I’m going to try and sell the skins at market. I trust you two will be alright while I’m away?”

Usha nodded readily and Bael grinned.

“Can I come with you?”

Kujo eyed him, “Bael, I need both of you here with the little ones. I’ll only be gone for a day or so. Riften is just a few miles southeast of here.”

“Then if you’ll only be gone for a short time I see no reason why I can’t go.” Bael tried to reason.

Kujo sat up in his chair and gave Bael a hard look with his one golden eye, then he looked to Usha, who seemed disturbed at the idea of being the sole caretaker.

Kujo heaved a great sigh before answering, “If you were to go with me who’s to say something won’t happen here? While I’m gone someone needs to watch for wild animals and Shor forbid if someone dangerous came along and hurt one of you.” Kujos thoughts drifted to Kieran and it made him angry, “Usha can’t watch three children and keep house and defend if need be while we’re away, it’s unfair to her. Usha will not be left alone with three young children, Bael. That’s final.” His fist hit the table.

Seeing the look on Baels face made Kujo soften his tone.

“I know you want to ride to the city with me, Bael. But now is not the time,” Kujo held up his hand before Bael could interrupt, “Until I am comfortable with leaving Usha by herself I will not hear another word of this.”

The rest of their supper passed in silence. Even the three toddlers didn’t speak as much as they usually would. Usha offered to clean the table, her attempt trying to get away from the aura Kujo created in the room.

Night began to fall and Kujo tasked Bael and Usha to go out and make sure all of the animal pens and coops were properly locked.

Kujo took the toddlers upstairs and started to change them and put them into their night clothes. At the thought of going to bed Arathorn started to fuss and kick his legs out when Kujo tried to change him.

Annoyed, Kujo gave up and moved to change Larisus. The three-year-old rubbed his eyes and started to cry. As Kujo started to change Larisus, Arathorn chased Morwen around the room.

Kujo huffed and asked them to get into their beds.

Ignoring him, Morwen and Arathorn raced around laughing.

Kujo felt a heat rise into his cheeks. He quickly finished changing Larisus and scooped up the other two into his burly arms and dropped them into their beds. Arathorn threw a tantrum and fell onto the floor. At the sight of not being in his bed he started to cry even more.

Puffing out his cheeks Kujo went over and put him back in bed, all the while holding a crying Larisus in his arms.

Morwen tried to speak over the crying and asked Kujo to tuck her in. She huffed from her bed as she watched Kujo try to wrangle Arathorn back into his own bed. Morwen repeated her request to no avail.

Kujo was just about to start screaming when Usha and Bael swept in. Bael took Larisus and fixed his diaper. Usha laid Arathorn down.

Kujo recused himself downstairs and shut the door to his bedroom behind him. All of the frustration building inside of him released and Kujo started to weep.

If he couldn’t control three children how was he supposed to grow his family? How could he expect it of himself now?

Slumping to the floor he held his face in his hands.

“Oh, Calla,” His whispered, “Why did I do this?”

Kujo questioned himself constantly. His sister was the one to go to whenever a child was upset or needed comfort. Kujo never thought of himself as a father-figure until the day he took Bael, Usha, and Arathorn away from the strays.

Even then was he worthy of that position?

Kujo whispered his sisters name once more, begging the dark room for answers about what to do. He couldn’t let himself get upset to easily, otherwise what good was he to these children?

In the dark Kujo knew what Callas answer would be.

His sister would have stood him up and called him out on his self destructive thoughts. Calla would have marched him right back out and take responsibility.

Kujo couldn’t be afraid, he’s already come so far. He knew there was plenty to do and to work on, but he couldn’t let the fear of his failures distract him from being what these kids needed.

Wiping his eyes and taking deep breaths, Kujo calmly walked himself back upstairs. Arathorn was still fussing with Usha and Larisus sniffled in Baels arms. Kujo took both boys and motioned Morwen over to the floor.

“How about a story?” Kujo asked the toddlers.

Each boy sat on one of Kujos knees, Morwen in the center.

Usha gratefully handed Kujo a small book and went off to ready herself for sleep. Bael listened from his bed.

Kujo was about to begin when Larisus asked to hold the book. To keep it fair Kujo elected both boys to hold each end, and Morwen would turn the pages.

“Of Fjori and Holgeir,” Kujo read, “A tale of two star-crossed lovers in Skyrim.” Kujo looked to each child, “That’s the country we live in.” He told them.

Kujo kept reading, “In her 29th summer of life, Fjori the huntress met the warlord Holgeir on the field of battle. None remember what they fought over, for their love to come was so great it overshadowed all…” Kujo furrowed his brows and had to sound out the word in his head before continuing, “R-Riv-rivalries or dees-di-disputes.”

“They fought to a standstill, as their followers looked on - till her sword broke his axe and his shield dulled her blade and all could see that they were equals. As the Eagle finds its mates, so too did Fjori find hers in Holgeir, and a time of peace came to the clans of the forest. But as the summer's warmth gives way to winter's chill, so too would this peace pass.”

“But the Snake came and bit Holgeir, its venom see-seep-seeping deep into the wound. A Whale greeted Fjori's v-view as she came over the snow-covered mountains to the coast. She obtained an alix-el-Fuck...shit I’m sorry...elix-elixir from the A...Akavfuck! Sorry...Akavir-and returned to the forest in haste. Though Holgeir could smell the winds of Sovngarde, she gave him the alix...elixir and he was cured in an instant. But the Snake bit Fjori as she poured the last drop into Holgeir's mouth, and fatigued from her journey, she joined the ancestors immediately. Holgeir's grief was such that he built a tomb and upon comp-comple-completion, took his own life that he might rejoin her.”

He was embarrassed with his horrible reading but Kujo was proud he finished the story this time.

Kujo shut the book himself, noticing Larisus and Arathorn were already asleep. Morwen yawned and stretched her little legs out in front of her. She burrowed into Kujos chest.

“I love you, papa.” She whispered before drifting off to sleep.

Kujo choked back his tears, his entire chest warming with adoration. He looked up to the ceiling and knew somewhere his sister had heard him.

This time Kujo knew he was doing the right thing.


	10. Chapter 10

“ _ Masquerade! _ _ Paper _ _ faces on parade _ __   
_ Masquerade! Hide your face so the _ _ world _ _ will _ _ never _ _ find you _ __   
_ Masquerade! _ _ Every _ _ face a _ _ different _ _ shade _ _   
_ _ Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask _ _ behind _ __ you... ”

- **Andrew Lloyd Webber “Phantom of the Opera”**

 

25th Evening Star 4E190

 

The city of Anvil was alight with the pomp and circumstance of celebration. Littered in the streets were various carnival stands, performers from all over coming to celebrate Saturalia. Tents were thrown up by the Anvil nobility so the commoners had somewhere to celebrate rather than being bothersome at the castle. 

Amongst the din of debauchery and lightheartedness were Thalmor soldiers patrolling about. Laughter would seem to subside every now and again when the people would see the Dominion soldiers walking through.

All along the Gold Coast and out into the Abecean Sea were boats covered in grand lights. Those rich enough to own the boats held private parties, not wanting to involve themselves in the commotion held in the city.

Up the hill from the castle entrance was a was lavishly decorated mansion, covered in the finest golden lights. Red silks streamed amongst the trees and marble statues all bore simple golden masks. Any snow that fell was quickly melted away by the castle staff, the nobleman who owned the property was insistent he did not want any frost to inhibit his Saturalia Masquerade.

Genevieve stood in the doorway to the mansion, arm in arm with Eilonwy. The two of them were dressed in luxurious gowns. Eilonwy opted for a simple blue dress and peacock mask, but Genevieve wanted to leave an impression. 

She strode into the main part of the mansion adorning a long chocolate brown dress that if one looked closely they would notice it folded into the shape of a rose. The bust and sleeves of the dress were a delicate brown applique lace that formed the shapes of moths. Her mask was less subtle; a bronze half-mask adorned at the ends with bronze moth wings that flicked upwards.

She and Eilonwy followed a handful of other nobles into the lavish ballroom, and as they reached the steps that led down to the dancing Genevieve was announced.

“Lady Genevieve Elyrra Motierre-Mariquette!”

Genevieve had hardly reached the bottom of the steps before she was set upon by the lord of the house, her fathers business partner Adrus Decidus. He was dressed in Cyrodiilic finery, a shining black mask made his intense sapphire eyes blaze brightly.

“My dear Lady, how pleased I am that you were able to come!” Adrus took her gloved hand and kissed it, “A shame your father would miss such a party.”

“Father was unwell when I left, but I shall tell him of your wonderous masquerade.” Genevieve said, adding another complimentary comment to the warmth of her reception.

Adrus took Genevieves arm, much to Eilonwys chagrin, and weaved her through the crowd of nobles, a rush of color and noise that Genevieve had become accustomed to. He stroked his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully.

“I do hope you will get a chance to stay in Anvil for a time, my darling Maria has missed your company, Lady Motierre-Mariquette.” He told her.

“As I have missed hers, surely.” Genevieve responded.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you lodgings during your stay in Anvil.” Adrus said, “Your father always welcomes my family when we summer in Daggerfall.”

“Your invitation is duly noted, Lord Decidus. But I’m afraid my stay will not be for long. I’m merely here to survey my fathers business.” Genevieve said.

Adrus stopped as they came to a crowd of nobles. Genevieve could see the Lady of the house, Astilla, entertaining her guests with timely flourishes of her hand and twinkling her icy blue eyes under a grand golden mask. The long train of red silk that fell behind her head was complemented by a maroon chiton adorned with golden filigree.

“I must say, Lady Genevieve, I did not perceive that as the reason for your visit.” Adrus said with a smile.

“Did you not?” Genevieve asked, “And you’re usually so clever, Lord Adrus.” She gave a polite curtsy before she greeted Astilla with a polite kiss on both cheeks.

 

On the other side of the ballroom was a younger woman dressed in a similar chiton worn by Lady Astilla. Her mask was obsidian black, grand antlers protruding from either side. Like her father she had piercing sapphire eyes which she used to survey the crowd.

A man came to her side, handing her a drink.

“Look at these people, Orrin.” She said with near exhilaration, “You can smell the lies oozing from their well-scrubbed pores.” She sipped her wine.

Orrin smiled beneath his golden wolfs mask, “Mother and father must revel in it.”

“Do you?”

“I’ll use the occasion to enjoy myself, Maria,” Orrin said to his sister, “There are still a few who I can call friends.”

“What does your new wife think?” Maria scoffed.

“You jest over my marriage to Tulvia still, Maria? Here I thought you had better things to do with your time. Like sneaking into the corner with some gardner-boy.”

Maria sipped her wine once more, Orrins statement not phasing her one bit.

“What an interest thing to say. Especially when it is not ones business to know what goes on between my legs. Have your own ventures been so boring you must pry into the details of my own, brother? From the looks of your wife I know you’re not impotent surely.”

“For Mara’s sake-” Orrin seemed exasperated.

“I am not a fool as to not realize the intention of this party, Orrin,” Maria said simply, “Mother and father are never transparent to me.”

“I suggest you make use of the situation then. Mother and father want you to marry, find yourself a suitable man.” Orrin told her.

Marias expression didn’t change, but inwardly she was laughing at her brother.

“I doubt many of them would be willing to stay under my boot.” She said cooly.

Orrin scoffed, “Not from what I hear of mother and fathers other more sinister parties.”

The two of them smiled into their drinks as they sipped their wine.

Maria recused herself from her brother and strode into the crowd of dancers. There she caught sight of Genevieve, the young woman speaking quietly to her governess. Maria held out her hand to take Genevieves.

“A dance, my Lady Motierre-Mariquette?” Maria gave a sly smile.

Genevieve bowed her head, “As you wish, my Lady Decidus.”

The two noble-women took to the dance floor, Maria led Genevieve in a simple waltz about the ballroom.

“Still being escorted by your governess, yet already attending parties meant for those older than you.” Maria commented, her hand on Genevieves hip.

“You are only a year my senior, Maria.” Genevieve reminded her.

“You are young.”

Genevieve let Maria twirl her around before speaking.

“I wish everyone would ignore my youth. I may look nearly seventeen but I assure you I feel twice as old.”

Marias eyes softened, knowing how fast Genevieve has had to grow up since the death of Shoshana. She twirled Genevieve with surprising gentility.

“Be careful for what you wish, my Lady,” Maria told her, her tone almost protective, “There are curses to age. Like parents hosting a grand ball to find a suitor.” She jested.

“As I suspected. I noticed Lady Astilla seemed particularly alert this evening.” Genevieve said, laughing as she came back into Marias embrace, “I’m sure you haven’t overlooked the arrival of the Counts son then?”

“We haven’t yet spoken. But it’ll be most exquisite to see him squirm.”

“My dear, you are a wicked thing.” Genevieve smiled.

“Tell me you are staying at the estate during your time in Anvil. I should love to speak with you of the horrors I’m to experience here. Half of these nobles have a wit equal to the thickness of marmalade and the other half think a woman is akin to a glove.”

“It would bring me nothing but the greatest pleasure.” Genevieve raised her brow in amusement, “I have every intention of informing you of my exploits in High Rocks court. They’re a bunch of rutting ill-bred miscreants.”

“They surely had no idea what they would be facing when you announced yourself, Lady Genevieve.”

The two of them danced until the end of the song. At the end they curtsied to each other and walked arm in arm back to Eilonwy.

“I hope you’re done cavorting, Lady Genevieve.” Eilonwy chided.

“Is dancing with a friend a crime?” Genevieve asked.

“Punishable by death I hear.” Maria said evenly, “What a devil am I.”

The three of them stood off to the side conversing and near bashing every single person that came into their view. Something caught Marias eye and she excused herself from the other two. She was annoyed when she slipped into a side room that took her into a coat room. She was thankful no one was in there having sex yet.

“Atterius?” She whispered.

The gardener had been hiding behind a plush fur coat. His dark eyes shined with the innocence of puppy love when he saw Maria. Near-black curls fell in front of his face when he lowered his gaze to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Maria snapped.

“I had to see you…” Atterius said breathlessly, garnering the nerve to look back up at Maria, “Divines...You look like Dibella herself.” He wrung his hands together nervously.

Maria smirked, “I can think of a few things that would liken me to her.”

Atterius blushed violently, “I-uh...I agree.”

Maria strode forward and stroked up the sleeve to his dirt-covered shirt.

“Is that what you were looking for?” She whispered into his ear, “A chance to steal me away and lift up my skirts again?” She placed a kiss on his neck, feeling him shudder at her touch.

“N-No...I-I…” Atterius sputtered, closing his eyes when Maria set her hand on his chest, “Mara…”

“Later then?” Maria concluded, “Meet me in the boathouse, I’ll just be wearing the mask.” She pulled herself away.

Atterius wiped his brow, “Maras mercy…”

“I’ll see you after the party.” Maria winked at him, sauntering away knowing he was watching the sway of her hips.

Maria took to walking around her home, revelers taking up every single corner of the house. She passed her fathers study seeing him standing there with a few other noblemen. Maria tilted her head to the side when she saw Genevieves governess standing off to the side, Genevieve herself pointing to a map of Tamriel and speaking to Lord Decidus. There was a faint feeling of pride when Maria saw all the stuffy noblemen listening intently to the things Genevieve was saying.

Walking further down the hall and strolling past family portraits Maria was stopped suddenly when her mother seemed to appear just in front of her.

“There you are.” Astilla hissed, taking Marias arm, “I have been looking all over for you.”

Maria rolled her eyes, “I went for a walk, mother.”

“A walk…” Astilla scoffed, “Do you have any idea how important this is for your father and I?” She stopped just as they came to one of the entrances into the ballroom.

“Maria Decidus,” Astilla hushed herself, “You are a representation of this family. Just when I think you’re past all of these silly mannerisms of yours…”

“Mother-”

“Enough,” Astilla cut her daughter short, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Astilla was masterfully quick to change her expressions as the two of them entered back into the ballroom.

As if rehearsed, the entirety of the room fell into applause at the entrance of their hostess and her daughter. Astilla and Maria gave graceful curtsies and signalled the continuance of the revelry. Astilla immediately pulled Maria to a crowd of younger men, garnering the attention of the Counts son. He had been rubbing the chin of his perfectly groomed brunette beard when the two women approached.

“Maria, my flower,” Astilla spoke sweetly, “Allow me to introduce you to Corvus Umbranox, Earl of Gweden.”

Maria held out her hand and Corvus took it with a surprising amount of strength. His stunning brown eyes trying to pull her into his trance but to no avail.

“Lady Decidus,” The Earl moved up from his bow, “What an enchanting sight to behold indeed.” He let go of her.

Astilla spoke in Marias stead.

“I was just telling my daughter about your renovations for Gweden.” She urged the conversation.

Corvus smiled, “Yes, father finally let me tear down the unsightly farms there, I hope to have a home built in the coming year.”

“How wonderful!” Astilla let out a trained laugh.

The orchestra began to strike up a new slow waltz. Corvus held his hand out to Maria.

“Oblige me in a dance, my Lady?”

Maria met his unwavering gaze, not wasting a moment to take his hand.

“Shall we?” She asked.

The two of them met one anothers calculated steps. Corvus readily took Marias hip, but Maria pushed him along without missing a step. They moved about in elegant tandem. 

Maria could feel her mother boring holes into them, greedy eyes pushing them together in a not-so-subtle fashion.

“You dance beautifully.” Corvus remarked, flashing a brilliant smile. He twirled Maria and forcefully brought her back to him.

“I might say the same of you.” Maria said, “But in a room filled with clodding beasts who are we to compare ourselves?”

“Then I shall have to test your mettle in a more intimate setting.” Corvus said cheekily.

“Perhaps sooner than you think.” Maria retorted, thinking maybe he wasn’t so boring after all.

“Your mother is quite intent on pushing us together.” He told her.

“And here I thought she was the master of subtlety.”

“Aren’t all mothers?” Corvus asked, again twirling Maria before pulling her close enough their bodies seemed to conjoin.

She slowly exhaled on his neck as the music came to a close, “And they say parents are loathe to hear about their daughter being ravished.” Maria lowered her voice.

“Only if the ravishing is exquisite enough.” Corvus answered.

“I suppose we shall see.”

Corvus chuckled as they each others arms to prospectively bow and curtsy.

Maria took up Corvus’ arm once more.

“Perhaps a quieter venue is in order?” She suggested, intending to confront his intentions in private.

“After you, My Lady.”

The two slipped away from the crowd, not going unnoticed by choice pairs of eyes. As they walked through the manor the echoes of the party began to subside. A set of perfectly hewn marble steps brought them to an ornately decorated hall that opened up into a large conservatory domed with fine Elsweyrian glass.

Maria had just reached the entrance before rounding on Corvus, her polite smile dropping altogether. Before she could get a word in she felt Corvus’ hands grasp at her hips as he pulled her in for a kiss. Her back met the wall, Corvus putting a hand to her neck.

“Get off of me.” Maria warned.

“Drop the act we both know what you’re looking for. And I’m happy to oblige.” Corvus began drawing up her skirts with his free hand.

The second his hand dug into her bare inner thigh a surge of fear ran throughout Marias body. Adrenaline kicked in and she kneed Corvus in the groin. He reeled back just as Marias fist met his mouth.

Maria cleaned his skin off of her golden rings, looking on as Corvus checked the blood now pouring from his bottom lip.

“Try it again and you’ll be feeding the weeds.” She said cooly.

Corvus straightened himself, the flicker of fear in his eyes as he felt his reputation with the Decidus family flutter away. He gauged Marias reaction, unable to tell what her next motive was.

The sound of heels clicking up the steps spurred Maria into action. She bent over to concerningly run her hand over the muscles of her ankle. She looked up when Orrins face came into view, both of her parents in tow.

“What’s this?” Adrus furrowed his brows, looking suspiciously at his daughter.

“My Lord Corvus!” Astilla gasped, her hand dramatically flying to her breast she she saw the blood dripping from his lip.

Maria quickly recovered, giving Corvus no chance to speak, "I was showing the Earl our conservatory and I clumsily slipped on a step. He kindly attempted to break the fall but I'm afraid the steps were slicker than we had anticipated and well we both made a bit of a mess of ourselves in the tumble now haven’t we?” She let out an embarrassed giggle, her hand brushing Corvus’ shoulder. Her tone was friendly but her eyes dared Corvus to play along for the sake of his own skin.

“Alas, the injuries one sustains from trying to be a gentleman.” Corvus followed lightheartedly.

Astilla immediately relaxed her stance, “Come my dear, Lord Corvus, we must get that wound looked at.” She swooped in on Corvus, cooing to him about how terribly sorry she is about the state of their home. Adrus quickly followed them down the steps, hoping the Earl wouldn’t be turned off of the marriage prospect.

Orrin remained. He looked at his sister.

“Are you alright?”

“Quite well, dear brother, if not a little shaken. My ankle seems to have caught the step. If you’ll excuse me I’d like to take a moment to gather myself.”

Maria didn’t wait for her brother to reply, excusing herself as quickly as she could in the opposite direction of her parents.

 

Down in the ballroom Genevieve sipped carefully on a glass of very sweet white wine. Eilonwy was carefully monitoring the intake and ignoring all of the drunken nobles around them. Genevieve caught the stark grey-blue eyes of a nobleman from across the ballroom. Eyes rimmed by an elegant silver mask. 

He was clean shaven, his face young and undoubtedly handsome. Genevieve handed Eilonwy her glass of wine and adorned a slight smirk.

“Where are you going?” Eilonwy demanded.

“I want to dance.”

The crowd almost seemed to part as Genevieve strode forward. The darkness of Genevieves dress a direct contrast to the bright oranges and reds and blues of those dancing around her.

The nobleman met her confident strides halfway in the sea of dancers. He took her gloved hand and led her in a slow tango. After the first initial twirl he brought her to him so that her back flushed against his chest. He brought her extended hand slowly to his lips. After one sensual kiss he whispered in her ear.

“Laurent deMarc.”

He twirled her back around to face him, completely enrapturing Genevieve under his steely gaze.

“Genevieve Motierre-Mariquette.” She answered, a glint of playfulness in her amber eyes.

Laurent took her hips, pulling her along the floor of the ballroom as she glided on the toe of her shoes. The pace of the orchestra began to pick up. Laurent released Genevieve as she spinned around on her toes, Laurent moving himself back in a masterful back ocho. Genevieve stopped and swept her right leg behind the left, extending her left arm out. Resting his arms behind him, Laurent carefully stepped to the beat, eyeing Genevieve as she matched his pace in a dance to the rhythm of the violin.

Their hands met in the middle, the two of them now circling clockwise, then reversed halfway. Laurent once more took Genevieves hand and kissed it. She rocked her hips in a suggestive twist, quickening to the music. Laurent pulled her back in, dipping her and trailing his hand up her corset and up the side of her neck.

Again, almost violently, Laurent reeled her back to him and engaged her in a faster dance. Her finger trailed under her chin and she stepped backwards, forcing him to follow her pace.

At the final crescendo of the violin Laurent quickened his step. Genevieve stopped and turned, she felt on of his arms snake under her left arm, reaching up to grasp her throat. His free hand placed upon her belly as to pull her into his embrace.

Much of the onlookers were too drunk to truly grasp what they had watched. Even if they had, the two of them had felt as if they hadn’t had an audience at all. Laurent released Genevieve and as she turned he bowed.

“Should I not be the one bowing to the Prince of Wayrest?” Genevieve asked.

“On the contrary, Lady Motierre-Mariquette. As I am a gentleman first. I should have known better than to have tried to engage with a Motierre.” He said, his smile disarming.

Genevieve held out her hand for him to kiss once more, “Contradictory to your claims, it seems I am equally matched, Your Highness.”

“As educated as you are beautiful. My father did say your family was something to behold. What a pleasure however to find another Breton in a room full of Nibanese. I can only feel so comfortable for so long, despite my mother hailing from Anvil herself.” Laurent said, his eyes never leaving hers as he bowed once more.

Then he added, “Please entertain me by saying you’ll stay in Anvil for a time. I’ve a month in this city and would be loathe not to see you again while I’m here.”

Genevieve let a smile creep upon her face, “I might be inclined to do so, had I a good enough reason.”

“You’ve but to ask.” Laurent seemed amused by her answer, he held out his arm for her to take.

“I understand your Uncle, the Count, has wandered his eye to an Elsweyrian supplier of salt. No move has been made, but you must understand the precarious situation I’ve been put in.” Genevieve explained, “I’d hate to have little reason to come back to Anvil if the Mariquettes are to not do business with its nobility.”

“Perhaps I’ll take tea with my uncle sometime in the next few days.”

“A most generous idea. I’d hate for Cyrodiil to lose a large supply of quality High Rock salt, as most learned people know it is essential for curing many throat ailments.”

“A sad thing indeed if my Countess aunt were to develop a goiter.” Laurent said with feigned shock, leading Genevieve back through the crowd.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Laurent left Genevieve back in the care of her Governess. Eilonwy was looking particularly perturbed the longer Laurent stood there.

“If I were to call upon the Decidus home in this next week, would I find you?”

Eilonwy was about to interject, but Genevieve spoke first.

“Might I have a reason to stay?”

“A beautiful and shrewd business woman like you? I should say most certainly.”

“How wonderful.” Genevieve said nonchalantly, “Then here you shall find me.”

Laurent gave one final bow, recusing himself back into the din of the party.

Eilonwy eyed Genevieve, “My Lady, we’ve already informed the ship captain of our departure in two days.”

“Our stay just extended itself, Eilonwy. Father won’t mind.”

Eilonwy was about to argue but stopped herself. She remained quiet for the rest of the party.

 

Maria sat in her window, watching the partiers filter in and out of the house for hours on end. She no longer felt like flouting herself in front of drunken nobles. 

She pulled her long brunette hair out of its pins and let it fall down past her shoulders, the aromas from her hair permeating her space. The soft scent of fresh gardenia and something sweet wafted into her nose, she leaned into the windowsill and closed her eyes.

Plaguing her mind was that fool Corvus. Had he not been so ready to fuck her in the conservatory Maria may have actually liked him. But he was, like most straight men, constantly thinking of the next time they can stick their prick in something warm.

Maria turned her attention to the sea. She knew Atterius would be waiting with a boat to take her out onto the water, watching the fireworks as he brought her to orgasm.

But for once Maria didn’t quite feel like toying with him.

As if knowing she was thinking of him, Maria saw Atterius climb over the gate that led into the gardens below her window. Maria sighed and got to her feet. She looked down as Atterius came to the roses beneath her. He looked dejected, wringing his worn hat in his hands.

“Go away, Atterius.” Maria said to him.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Atterius lowered his head, “Are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

“You should go.” Maria told him.

“Wait.”

Maria watched Atterius maneuver his way to the trellis that led up astride her window. Maria felt annoyed now, anger growing each time Atterius would wound himself on a large thorn. He came up just beside her.

“I just felt like I needed to say this face to face…” He began, stopping himself as his eyes rested on a faint finger shaped bruise on her neck, “Did he do that?”

“Who?”

“That nobleman you went off with…”

“Stop following after me.” Maria snapped, “I’m fine.”

Atterius’ face fell into genuine sympathy, “Yes but-”

“Just-” Marias hands flew up into the air, “Stop. Not tonight...”

Atterius read her expression clear as day. He gave a curt nod, his heart sinking deep into his chest. Atterius felt as if he had suddenly shrunken down to a third of his size at the reprimand.

“Yes, my Lady.” He moved to climb down the trellis but stopped just once to add one more thing, then shook his head deciding against it.

Maria remained stone faced, watching Atterius make his way back down to the gardens. He didn’t even bother to pull the thorns from his body, instead walking dejectedly to the main entrance.

With a slam Maria closed her windows, not wanting to look back on Atterius’ crestfallen form. Instead she slumped into her plush mattress and commenced the start of a sleepless night.


End file.
